Dear Mr. Air Conditioning Repair Man,

I was hot in utero, I was born hot, always been hot, I'm hot. Okay?

I would be much more comfortable up to my ears in a snow drift right now, waiting for you, than here in my condo, roasting in this hellish humidity, counting down the seconds til my doorbell rings.

I just ate a popsicle. Stuck my head in the freezer. Nothing. No relief.

My forehead is sticky, my patience worn thin. I just called your boss for the 4th time in 12 hours. Thankfully, she did not refer to me as, "Ma'am," this time. She actually gave me good news. She said the part is in and you're on your way.

I have never been so excited to see anyone in my entire life. I would cook you a feast fit for a king if: a.) I could cook and b.) I wasn't worried about steaming up my kitchen even more than it already is. Come to think of it, I could probably grill you a filet right on my dining room table.

(Knock, knock, knock!)

The gods must be crazy!

Here you are!

YAY!

You're not the same gentleman who tried in vain to fix my air conditioner for hours last week (in between chatting about your baby when you couldn't help but notice mine who was driving his trucks around the living room). I don't care who you are. You are wearing a shirt with an air conditioning company logo on it and you have a small toolbox and that is good enough for me.

"Oh, it's cool in here," you say as you enter my front door.

"You must be coming from hell," I say. My thermostat reads 81. My son's sometime straight hair is in all of its Jew-fro glory.

"Can I get you a drink? Anything?" I ask as if I'm on a first date.

"Not right now, but do you have a stool I could use?"

"Of course, you could use this, or that, stand on my shoulders, whatever you need."

JUST GET THAT GODDAMN A.C. BACK ON, MR. FIX-IT!

I remember a few years ago when my cable was out for a week, I flipped. I called the cable company, "Please, take my oven, my stove, my bathroom, I don't care, just not my cable!"

Now I can appreciate what an idiot I was back then. Air conditioning is vital.

Sir, just hearing you puttering around on my balcony right now warms (or rather cools) my heart.

Please, please, please, Mr. Air Conditioning Repair Man, you suburban superhero, sitting on my dainty little stool where I iron my hair every morning, please make sure my air is kickin' once again. I want to rest peacefully tonight under my down comforter and pretend I'm hunkered down in the middle of a February snowstorm.

As for now, I'm melting. I don't think I'm fit for this climate. I was hot in utero, I was born (in August) hot as hell, always been hot, I'm hot.

Sincerely,


One Hot Mama