Heat rave

Ten Things I Like To Do When the Weather Is Hot:

1.  Carry my flip-flops with me wherever I go (see also "Ten Things I Like To Do on the Campaign Trail").

2. Run naked through the cold water in the bathtub (see also "Virtual Lakeside Property on a Budget for Renters").

3. Run naked through the cold water in the fountain at the mall (see also "Ten Things I'm Thinking For Purposes of This Post Only About Doing This Summer for the First Time").

4. Run naked through the hot bod, er, of someone from an as yet-uncracked exotic ethnic group  - e.g., the Lady-Americans - of whose occult tribal charms in the webitching of their men I have in the pages of National Geographic read much these last fifty years (see also "Ten Quarter-Inches I'm Thinking For Purposes of This Post Only About Using This Summer for the First Time", and, finger-crossed daily supplements permitting, "Three Is a Magic Number").

5. Run with my pants around my ankles during the nightmare of the lead-up to #4 when I discover that #1, #2, and #3 turn out to have been far less accompanied by sobbing when not preceded by a numbing half-quart of gin (see also the DSM-IV).

6. Treat an attractive stranger in line at the grocers' to an impromptu Creamsicle, just because I think they're, respectively, special and on special, i.e., I like the cut of their jib/retail price (see also Sometimes a Creamsicle is Just a Frozen Treat on a Stick of Wood by Dr. Sang-Froid Mund).

7. Play miniature golf in the basement on a home-made course composed of fairway portals made from ham bones, Pringles cans and bobbing drinking birds (see also Eighteen Holes and What Do You Get Besides Crabs?).

8. Grill in the glass under the ceiling bulb steaks sliced very thin (see The Budget Gourmet in the Bedroom). 

9. Make sangria from fermented cranberry juice and sliced peaches forgotten after Sunday breakfast sometime last winter amid the stacks of old magazines (see also The Culture We Deserve by Jacques Barzun and The Microbe Hunters by Paul de Kruif).

10. Get a so-called "healthy" tan of the sort that, as it is indistinguishable from your year-round Refrigerator White, turns out to be, for all save for the stock ticker of the village oncologist, healthiest of all.