Do you see that? 90? That is some seriously hot weather for coastal San Diego. We consider 75 to be a hot day. The weather is supposed to be 72 and sunny, no more and no less. We can tell the difference between 72 and 75 without even looking at a thermometer so when it hits these kind of temperatures everyone in town is grumpy and falling over from heat exhaustion. Not to mention the air is so dry that the inside of my nose feels like someone buzzed it out with a Dremel then went back in with some sandpaper and then rounded it out by stuffing cotton balls down my throat. It's 8% humidity. My lips feel like they are going to fall off. I live one, ONE! mile from the gigantic Pacific Ocean. How is 8% even physically possible?

My poor Henry looks like he's going to spontaneously catch on fire, his blood boiling when he even so much as looks outside. He just keeps wandering from room to room, glaring at us with each pass, looking for the coldest possible spot to stay until the sun sets. For a little reprieve I gave him a cool bath, something he doesn't like at all. But we sat him down and explained that after Mommy takes away all your dignity and scrubs every inch of your body with strawberry scented shampoo, you will feel better. He still did not agree but finally after we threatened some timeout without treats, food or water he pathetically relented by putting his ears down, holding his breath and hopping in the bath all the while choking back tears. Because I'm just that mean.

But then what do you know? Post bath we had a new, non-glaring, happy, energized Henry. He said, "Wow! Aside from all this water you poured in my ears, I feel great! It's a beautiful day and I'm happy to be alive!"

So for the next thirty seconds he played and chased Lola all around the house and yard. Until suddenly he was hot again. Because not even something with more fur than Jennifer Lopez can stay cool and wet when it's negative humidity.