July Nine

I've been working like a dog.

Where does this expression come from? Every dog I've ever met has a sweet life. She's fed gourmet foods, bathed, coiffed, doted on, and played with every day. It's a cushy life. Unless you're a herding farm dog, wouldn't "working like a dog" actually mean that you're not doing anything but being tended to by your human? English idioms, I do not get you.

We've just barely broken into July and the humid heat of the past few days has me questioning if it's worth living. I am truly weak sauce. It was a tad bit dryer today, which was helpful, but that didn't mean that I managed to cook anything. I nearly talked myself out of going to the market half a dozen times, so dismayed was I at the painfully fresh memory of sweat pouring down my face and neck every time I stepped foot outside the day before. But I pushed through and when I got back in, my idea of putting a meal together entailed tearing up a baguette to be slathered with pesto and a fistful of arugula on top. It's amazing how the heat draws out the lazy.