Feeling hot, hot, hot

I’m a summer baby—was born in California, in summer, during a heat wave for pity’s sake, and have always been one for warm weather hobbies: give me a choice and I’ll always plump for a BBQ, a swim, and an ice block over an afternoon on the ski slopes and an evening sipping cocoa by a fireplace. But this is ridiculous.
This morning I woke up hot, an amazing occurrence given that our apartment has until now acted exactly like an icebox with polished wooden floors and cheap plastic blinds. I was warm on the bus, I was warm on the train, and I was warm walking to my office. The moment I stepped across the threshold and flicked on the lights, I was pitched right over the I’m-coping-with-this-just-fine line into tropical territory. Opening the windows and fanning myself with a copy of the new issue (which looks great, BTW) did not help much at all. Even sending an intern downtown to buy a fan hasn’t solved it, although the thing is gyrating madly just to my right. I am now so hot I am literally sticking to my seat, which is not pretty given the thin skirt I wore to work today.
So this is the start of summer. I can state with some confidence that we have probably seen the last rain of the season and I will not need my coat again until November. I am thrilled about this, and would do a little celebratory cha-cha, but I’m too danged hot.