Hot Hot Stiletto

It's 100 degrees in Mummy P's backyard today. Plottie used to revel in the feel of hot shoulders, hot face, hot feet, hot toes, hot fingernails, sweat.

"How's the weather where you live, Honey?" Mummy P. just asked, for the twelfth time.

Plot got some work done yesterday on The Musical That Will Never End. He was in Redondo Beach, where it was beachy and breezy, unlike here in the Valley where it is apparently stuffy.

"Don't you think it's stuffy out here?" she just asked for the -- oh, I don't know how many times.

"No not really," said Plottie. "Just hot, like I remember."

"It's December?" she says.