I have ice cubes in my bra. I placed them there myself.
This may, you say, come under the heading of TMI, Too Much Information, and you could be right. I say this not to titillate, although it may have that effect upon some of you, for which I apologize.
I tell you this only to let you know that I am willing to go to extraordinary lengths this summer in order to stay cool, even if it means bruising and frostbite in tender places. No risk is too great, no ice cube too large and no danger too titillating, to keep me cool this year.
Last summer was more than I could handle while still maintaining a semblance of normalcy. That's why I opted for the non-normalcy thing and went straight for the whacked-out, crazed, I'm-too-hot-to-live persona that so endeared me to my children and husband.
Son: "MOM! Where are you?"
Daughter: "Jerk, it's daylight out. Where do you think she is?"
Son: "Still? Isn't she ever going to come out of her room?"
Daughter: "Nope. Says she won't come out until the fall, or until they make it legal for her to duct tape her children to the walls."
I didn't come out until the fall.
It's not entirely my fault. I blame it on my husband. He's too handy. You see, he installed an air-conditioning unit in our bedroom that essentially froze the entire space and caused it to resemble the Arctic. When the air was too hot to breathe into your lungs outside, you could see your breath in my room. It was a little slice of heaven.
The unit had three settings: Low, medium and freeze-your-nether-regions-off. I picked the last and kept it a delightful 35 degrees in my bedroom. How many of you were able to sleep with a wool blanket over you last summer? I did!
However, you can't live in your bedroom forever. Family will eventually drag you out with some nonsense about an intervention and depression, and that participating in life is actually a good thing. Like that is supposed to mean something to me when the mercury is climbing.
Apparently, the summer we had last year was simply a precursor to the whole global-warming thing, which appears to be picking up speed here in the Pacific Northwest.
Spring this year involved sunblock-sla-thering, an event heretofore unknown in these parts before August. Now that summer has kicked in with a vengeance I am not a happy person.
You see, I am one of a vanishing breed. I was born and raised here in the great Pacific Northwest. My favorite color of sky is gray. My grass is green and mossy, and yes, the webbing between my toes is coming along nicely.
I am overcome with joy when the weatherperson on television says we're in for some really great weather. I expect his next sentence to be "Rain, rain and more rain! Cloud cover from Everett to Olympia, and not a speck of sunshine in the forecast for months!"
I am sadly disappointed when he says that we're in for blue skies, sunshine and rocketing temperatures. This is why ice cubes are my friends. My very close friends.
Ice cubes are only for drinks, you say? Pshaw!
It's time to think outside the ice-cube tray, people. I say we create a bra that is hollow, and instead of filling it with foam padding, add water. Place bra in freezer overnight, and voila! Instant cooling!
This also could come in handy as a lifesaving device when one is lost in the desert, miles from any water.
Attachments for straws in order to use the water for hydration purposes would be sold separately, of course.
Belts that are ice-cooled would work along the same principle as well. I envision an entire clothing line involving ice in various fashionable accoutrements. Chunks of ice as dangly earrings, melting as you wear them. Workout ankle weights filled with water and frozen to keep you cool as you do your cardio.
The possibilities are endless.
Until I can get this clothing line up and running, feel free to try the ice-cube-down-the-bra remedy. Just don't blame me if you get frostbite.
Freelance columnist Pamela Troeppl Kinnaird can be reached at Pamela Troeppl@comcast.net.