The weekend was a hot one—literally. Scorcher summers are common here in the tropics, and you would think we’d be quite used to them. Think beaches and dips in the pool. But no, when you’re hyperventilating at the dead of noon and having ice cream hallucinations, summer doesn’t seem that fun anymore.
Domestic tasks ate up my weekend. This Labor Day in particular found me doing several loads of laundry—linen, the week’s clothes, towels, kitchen cloths. Ho-hum. My son J, likes laundry day though. He’s constantly underfoot, asking to be picked up so he can look into the twirling vortex of soapsuds in the washing machine. I pick him up and we make a game of it. I make as though to dip his foot into the wash and he shrieks with laughter. Laundry is fun for the male of the species because it’s the women who usually get stuck with this task. I ask J, “When you grow up, you’ll do the wash, won’t you?” He says firmly, “Nooo.”
The heat has its plus points, though. At around 3PM my laundry was ready to be folded, all dried and smelling fresh. And to get the weight off my aching feet, I escape into the cool cave that is my bedroom and take a well-earned nap.
You can’t tell me I’ve been lazy!