Hot Water

The Summer Solstice may still be a couple of weeks away, but here at the shallow northern end of deep southern nowhere, the heat is officially on. 

It is hot.  How hot?

Approaching triple digits hot.

So hot the Colonel puts on his Kevlar overalls before going outside-- to protect against shrapnel from the gravel popping on his driveway.

So hot the shoreline of Lake Brenda is receding faster than the Colonel's hairline.

So hot the crows are carrying canteens.

So hot spittle sizzles before it hits the pavement.

The heat is quite an inconvenience.  The comely and kind-hearted Miss Brenda was working out in the garden the other day while the Colonel was supervising from the air conditioned interior of the Big House.  She was perspiring heavily enough to give the folks over in the Delta fresh worry about high water.  The Colonel felt bad about it, and stepped outside to check on her.

"Hey, Sweetie, I really hate to see you workin' out in the heat.  Could you please work in the flower bed on the other side of the house?"

The Colonel's Lady looked up from her work, mopped her brow, and asked, "Why, is it any cooler over there?"

"Nope.  But, I won't be able to see you 'round there." 

The comely and kind-hearted Miss Brenda shot the Colonel a not-so comely and slightly less than kind-hearted look, and returned to her work.  

Yep, the heat is on...and the water is hot.