Yesterday, I'm sitting at my desk and not feeling so well. I thought I was either feverish or OMG! experiencing male menopause and having a hot flash.

Then I went downstairs and looked at the thermostat. Silly boy, you aren't going through The Change®, your air-conditioner is broken.

Of course, this was at night so it was too late to call the repairman. The A/C unit is on the roof and for some reason they don't like working in the dark two stories high. Something about pesky OSHA rules or something. Pussies.

So we sit and wait. The idea of cuddling with a bag of ice suddenly became very appealing. Hell, I'd even sit through Snakes on a Plane to escape the inferno that is my townhouse. Too bad I can't sneak Elliott in with me. He's so miserable now playing murder victim. Laying sprawled out in the most inconvenient of places. Like blocking doorways or even better, the stairs.

Our A/C breaks down at least once every summer. Who can blame it since it's SOFA KING HOT all the time and runs non-stop for like 8 months in a row.

Unfortunately, the repairman is not porn star hot but more mug-shot scary. Of course, if he gets here soon and turns my home into Antarctica, I will have his baby.