It's. So. Hot. And did I mention it's hot? It's like, 95 degrees or something, and humid. I could go on and on about the heat as I sit on my porch shellin' peas. Olivia, like me, is a complainer and a whiner when she's uncomfortable. Her ice cream cone broke and you would have thought the dog shit in her ear the way she carried on. Henry was only too happy to finish her drippy cone for her while she went storming up to her room. SLAM! went the door. Grace daintily finished every last lick of her cone. Mitch and I were alternating our ice cream with sips of wine. Almost a wine float, actually. Yum! I'll have to try that tomorrow. With champagne. MMMMmm.