The humidity was especially bad today, even at 5:30am, when I went for my run. I started sweating about three seconds in, and my sweat...it was just confused. It had no idea what to do and just formed pools on my arms and legs. It was basically saying "I don't understand, where do I go?! TOO MUCH MOISTURE!"
Bailey has been quite the drama queen about all this. Every time she catches us looking at her, she gives us one dramatic flop on the floor after another. It would start out with her just puddling around somewhere.
And then she'll notice that we're looking at her. And turn on the drama.
Then she just walks around spreading the drama from one end of the apartment to the other, floppity flop.
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| :( |
She eventually gives up, probably because she's expended so much energy dramatizing and is officially exhausted.
The weird thing is, I don't think she actually cares about being in a pleasantly cool room. I say this because I have a window air conditioner in my bedroom, and because I realize it might be uncomfortable for the furball in this 90-degree heat, I leave my door cracked open so she can get in at night. Sometimes if I'm awake I'll wait until she's in the room and I'll close the door to save energy. That just results in her crouching by the door, waiting for me to let her out.
BUT THEN! Once she's actually let out, it's not like she has anything important to do, like go to her litter box or eat. No, she just sits right outside the door, in the heat.
Someone explain, please. Is having her tail just inside the air-conditioned room enough to conduct the coolness throughout her entire body?
She's prancing outside in the living room (seriously, it's gotta be about 95 degrees there right now) as I'm writing this in my 68-degree room. I've given up trying to convince her that cooler = better, so I've shut the door because it's agonizing feeling the hot air breeze inside. My little air conditioner isn't strong enough for that.
Last weekend, before this horrific heat settled in (when it was still possible to stand inside my kitchen for longer than two minutes without wanting to climb into the refrigerator) and it was (only!) 80 degrees in the apartment, I made challah bread. It wasn't as hard as I thought it would be, except that I had to wait awhile for the dough to rise sufficiently. The directions said let the dough rise in a "warm place." I took that to mean my lap, because even though it wasn't heat index 110 degrees, it was still pretty darn warm. So last Saturday I basically sat around with a giant mixing bowl in my lap for half the day. Good times.
The dough came out nice and puffy though!
And then...the braiding. For some unknown reason I was overzealous and decided that I would be able to handle six-strand challah. The instructions from the recipe I found were...interesting. Something about taking the second strand from the right, crossing it over, taking the left-most strand, weaving it through...bringing it back...something...start over. I basically just ended up doing whatever made it look decent.
It turned out pretty nicely, I think, for my first go.
Probably not what challah is actually supposed to look like. But that's okay.
Good enough for us to eat.
The next morning was even better because...I made challah french toast from the leftovers! I think next time I make challah bread, I'm just going to make french toast with all of it. It was so delicious.
Bailey was intrigued. She knows she's not allowed in the kitchen, so she started out by being all sneaky and hiding behind this wall that separates the hallway and the kitchen, where we were eating.
But then she just strolled right in and walked up to me.
And so I let her lick some of the melted butter. But not the sugar.
I think I'm turning into a big softy here...
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