The evenings around here lately have been a marathon of foot propping. If my feet swell this much from the heat, I'm afraid to think what they might look like if I'm ever pregnant. Sausages is the best metaphor.
To combat the sausage-foot phenomenon, James and I have been taking ice packs from the freezer and putting them on our chairs with kitchen towels draped over them.
"Would you like a chilled footrest, madame?"
"Why yes, monsieur. And while you're up, something cold to drink."
We've been passing the evenings listlessly with our two fans pointed directly at us until the moment when our eyelids feel like they might fall off from the assault of wind power and we're forced to direct them elsewhere for a bit. The condensation from our water glasses has ruined just about every surface in apartment (suggestions for beautiful coasters, welcome). Skin-to-skin contact feels like an oven scorch.
But! We have chilled footrests and each others' company. All this to say, it's hot and a little resourcefulness goes an awfully long way in a small apartment.
Tiny apartment tip 1-71, right here.
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