Hot Frogs

I’m writing this post from inside my refrigerator.

(Or at least I wish I was.)

This has become necessary because, at the moment, France is experiencing its first heat wave in almost 10 years.

The whole country is on red alert as if the sun is a fucking terrorist.

There are hourly messages on the TV warning the entire nation of the dangers of dehydration. In this message there is always an image of a person drinking a bottle of water, as if we need instruction on how to do it properly.

"Now just hold the bottle to your lips, open your mouth a little bit, and tilt your head back.
Yeah, that's it!  Good job!"

Every evening on the news there’s a report that includes at least two of the following elements:

- A shot of some really sweaty bastard walking down the street.

- An 120 year old lady being re-hydrated at the hospital emergency room

-  An incredibly bored French doctor, in a white lab coat, calmly explaining how most people are too dumb to realize they need to drink water.

The frenzy over the heat has reached the stage where the police have been ordered to go door-to-door checking on elderly folks and making them ingest copious amounts of fluids, by force if necessary, to make sure they don't stroke out. 

I am not sure about the logistics or legality of this, but it’s happening none the less.

Not really.  

"Drink this creepy green liquid Granny.  Drink it now!"

Meanwhile, the streets in my neighborhood are so quiet, it feels like the beginning of the zombie apocalypse. My entire block looks like the set of a spaghetti Western film---complete with tumble weeds. I expect Clint Eastwood to arrive on horse-back any minute now.

For all of these reasons, and the fact that nearly 15,000 people died from heat related deaths during the last heat wave, I think the entire country needs to go over to the dark-side and just effing give in to the concept of air conditioning. 

No? No good?  Global warming? Fine. No A/C.

Somebody come up with a better solution and fast.

Until then, I’ll be here waiting, sweating, and sippin’ this here glass of luke warm Perrier.

 

p.s. If anyone has any suggestions on how I can remain cordial with my next door neighbor after having accidentally witnessed him watching TV in his underwear through the window in his living room, please do send advice. 

Because although I’m generally a rather “C’est la vie” kinda girl, it’s hard to look someone in the eye once you’ve seen the glory of their enormous, hairy man-boobs.