90. Humid. May. I knew those pleasant days of the last week were only lulling us into a false sense of hope that maybe, maybe we'd have a little more of that thing they call Spring.
My Saturday is booked. Murphy goes to the groomer at 9, I have to hit the credit union and then the vet's to buy another bag of prescription food (they are all in a tight triangle - two in the same shopping center, one across the intersection). Go up to Sanford to a coffee thing with a women's group. Return to Apopka when the groomer calls, and hand over the entire contents of my wallet to the groomer to bail Murphy out. Laundry, groceries. Then, if the weather doesn't turn all afternoon thunderstorm-y, I will head for the pool. We have reached the season of hell, when the only sane place to be outdoors is up to your neck in a body of water.
Sunday of course is Mother's Day, and we will do some sort of Mother's Day thing. And then I will head for the pool.
If you haven't guessed, I plan to use the hell out of the pool this season.
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