Summer Haze

July 20, 2010

It is hot. It is very, very hot in Ontario. In fact, it was at one point yesterday  NINETY ONE degrees warmer than it was at one point during the Winter in Saskatchewan. That is so many degrees, I feel the need to repeat it for emphasis. NINETY ONE.

The Mushroom has had to buy sandals. The Mushroom has never worn sandals. The Mushroom wears converse in the summer, and Doc Martens in the winter. This is due to  The Mushrooms Famous Fear of Feet. She is, however, on the fast track to 40, so it is high time she considered a form of shoe that is not designed for a teenager – specifically, a teenager in 1992, which is when she actually was one.

They – the sandals – are those weird types that have a sticky bit in between your toes. I imagine these to be incredibly uncomfortable, unless you are, of course, a goat, and then they would work perfectly. Otherwise, surely, the wearer just spends all their time going, ‘Aaagh. I’ve got something…in between…my toes… Oh, it’s my shoe.’, in much the same way as anyone wearing a thong must spend their day going, ‘Aaagh. I’ve got something…up…my arse.’ Apparently, thongs are designed so that people can’t see your underwear. In my view, if you’re wearing clothes that show your underwear, you might as well go the whole hog and go commando.

They are very pretty, and have a black flowery pattern that snakes up the foot like a tattoo. They were not cheap. They also fly off her feet the moment she tries to walk in them.

“How do you walk in flip flops?” she asked my Dad.

“You start wearing them before you are 35.” he replied.

“No, seriously,” she said, as she hopped to the other side of the garden to retrieve them. “Are you supposed to, like, grip them with your toes? Cos then you’d just walk like you were constipated. You can’t walk nicely and be gripping your footwear with your toes.”

My Dad was bored by now.

It was very very hot.

Now, I’ve never taken any drugs (apart from the time I allegedly pretended to have cancer when in fact I’d eaten one of my Dad’s arthritis pills which looked almost exactly like a Whiskas Dentabit(, so I would be grateful if any ‘edgy’ readers could enlighten me on to what might have been the chemical catalyst for this:

 It is a Monday morning.

 It is sunny.

 There is a lady holding two silk scarves and wearing only her underwear dancing on the balcony and singing a song that goes a bit like this:

“Oh SUN! I love you SUN! You are very BRILLIANT! Like a SUN!” 

It might not have gone like this. But it was about the sun, anyway.

Is it:

a) A lot of marijuana

b) Acid

c) Sunstroke

Or is it none of the above, but just good ol’ fashioned sun worship, and I should stop being such a stick-in-the-mud and get on up there and wave my paws about like it’s Woodstock all over again? Because if so, it’s too hot, and I can’t be arsed.


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