It’s not quite summer here in the Midwest, though there have been a few days where it was warm enough to go out without a jacket. (Which means I’ve gotta carry a purse, and I’m so not a purse person.) Last year I found a jean jacket that actually fit me well–after years of searching–so I’m likely to wear that darn thing till it’s 80 out.

Even though it’s not quite summertime yet, I discovered these very useful tips from Vic on my hard drive and figured you might get a kick out of them. I can’t see that I’ve ever published them anywhere before–or if I did, they were new to me anyway, lol. Enjoy :-)

Five Ways to Beat the Summer Heat

by Victor Bayne

• Go to the frozen section in the grocery store and stand in an open freezer door. If anyone calls you on it, glare at them and ask how you’re supposed to pick anything out when the windows are all fogged up.
• Wet a towel with cold water, wring it out, and put it over your head. As an added bonus, no one will interact with you when you’re sitting there like that unless they really, really need something.
• Eat ice cream. Preferably pistachio. But make sure you do it when no one too health conscious is around or you’ll get an earful about sugar and saturated fat. Make doubly sure to avoid all vegans.
• Head up to Wisconsin. Not that it’s much cooler there, but the AC in the car works pretty good and it blows right in your face.
• Find the nearest intersection and check out the car crash repeaters. It might not cool you down, but hey, at least you’re not dead.

I may be pretty good at lying to myself—but deep down inside, I do know the score. If the ice cream was that important to me, then I wasn’t about to stand in my own way. Not when I could practically feel it dripping down my wrist.

If you you’re not yet caught up to Subtle Bodies, you can find links to the whole PsyCop series below. And if you’re in the mood for something summery, the latest PsyCop collection features stories grouped by season, with plenty of sweaty hot summer action.

There was a poolside bar at either end of the party. I’ve never been much of a drinker, but I can usually find a non-alcoholic option hidden among the beer, wine and spirits. The bars were jam-packed, though, three guys deep, and the thought of inserting myself into the crowd was daunting. And while I did spot a less crowded bar on the other side of the dance floor, the guys hanging around it were all shirtless.

No thanks.

I wondered what that said about me. It wasn’t a matter of snubbing the hamburger for the prime hunk of meat at home. It never hurts to look—as evidenced by my dirty video collection, which Jacob is always adding to.

No, ever since I ditched Camp Hell, I’ve been intensely private about my love life—one might even call it closeted. But I’d always figured no one needed to know about my preference unless they wanted to give me a hand job.

But I’d stood up in front of the world and married Jacob, so I supposed that was no longer my problem. Maybe my reluctance to push through a crowd of sweaty, shirtless guys had more to do with my discomfort with humanity in general.

Guess it’s tough to spell the word introvert without the letter-I.

Are you all caught up?

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