Hot Hot Hot, Not

I want to preface this by making it clear that I'm not complaining about the heat.  After eight years in the Sandlands, a summer day in Our Nation's Capital only brushes the lower end of truly hot weather.  Hot is 120°F and 100% humidity.  Hot is when small items left in the car fuse in a puddle on the dashboard.  Hot is when the condensation pours like rain down the windows because you're keeping things a comfortable 50° cooler inside the house than it is out.  Today, by that standard, was only very, very slightly hot.

That said - and I hope I've made myself clear - this is a helluva night for the air-conditioning to conk out.  Clearly the move out of this dive can't happen too soon.

And it looks like it will, although the byzantine, tortuous process of getting a mortgage is something that beggars description.  Especially with the sweat pouring off me, and not nearly as decoratively as it is on the young gentleman above.

Bother.