I don’t do well in the heat.
Outside, the sun beats down on my head like a relentless drummer. Inside, my apartment feels like a sauna unless I hide out in my bedroom, the only source of cool air timidly wafting from my 1970’s wall-unit air conditioner. My dog and I both lie in our respective cool spots, half-awake, half-dreaming of frozen pumpkin (her) and iced water (me). We can barely bring ourselves to do anything at all.
Alas, I crave chocolate cake. And ice cream. And in particular, I can’t stop thinking about a chocolate cake shake that I sampled (if we’re being honest, guzzled) at legendary Portillo’s on my trip to Chicago.
