Can you count to 90?

I have so many clothes and nothing to wear.

From tomorrow and stretching all the way into next week, the mercury in Chicago will be pushing 90 degrees - and that's over 30 degrees Celcius, for those of you playing along at home.  I haven't endured such consistent heat since the beef vindaloo buffet on Belmont Avenue.

But seriously, my wardrobe and my body are grossly unprepared for this incoming heatwave.  I haven't refilled the ice cube tray, I have no idea how to speed up my archaic ceiling fan, and I only own one pair of sandals.  And those are stiletto sandals, that I can't possibly wear to work.  The girls will know what I mean.

In this weather, public transport is even more unbearable than usual and it makes me wonder why I can't kayak to work.  Because if I could, I probably would.  If I had a kayak, and knew how to manoeuvre it, that is.  Fortunately I don't think it's possible to be washed out to sea from Lake Michigan, so the worst that would happen is I'd end up rowing around in little circles.  And maybe have to be rescued by a handsome millionaire out for a morning sail on his 100-foot yacht.

Well, the weathermen are wrong 90% of the time anyway and therefore have the world's most enviable job.  Perhaps they'll also be mistaken about the length of the heatwave and I'll be spared the indignity of bearing my flabby white limbs at a bus full of Chicagoans for the next few days.  Here's hoping, anyway.