Jell-O Shots Didn't Help

I peeled off my clothes one inch at a time, the sweat plastered on me making it difficult. Once my pants and undies were off, I snapped the blinds shut, then flung my bra and T-shirt across the room. Lifting my breasts, I swiped a palm beneath and felt the sweat, shaking it from my hand, watching it spiral outward.

I’m so hot. My cheeks in the mirror are the color of ripe strawberries; my hair has curled around my face, and the back of my neck is dripping with sweat.  Ice. I need ice.  I open the freezer and grab cubes from the bin, and then the ice cubes suddenly stick to my damp fingers. Wincing and groaning, I peel them off carefully, but a bit of skin on one finger is now quite ice-burned. Dammit! I slouch on the couch, the fan blowing full speed in front of me, but it’s not helping; it just makes my eyes water.

An idea ferments in my melting brain: the shower. I hop into tepid water, then slowly turn it cooler, cooler, COLD. I’m under it for, I don’t know, maybe 10 minutes, just before the shivers might start. Using a thin cotton towel, I pat myself dry – don’t want any rubbing or friction to make me hotter. I debate about lotion and decide against it because it will create a heat seal, and I'll sweat more. Better to have scaly skin in this heat, and it’s humid too, so there’s that.  Who needs moisturizer when sweat is slicking me up, and this damnable humidity is about to kill me? Who said sweating cools you off? Idiots!

Naked, I drank 16 ounces of ice water, and in the mirror, my cheeks have not changed color - still strawberry pink. Leaning in closer, I can see that my eyeballs aren’t melting and running down my face. Ice packs. I ran to the freezer and took out the ice packs and stuck one on under each butt cheek and each of my breasts. Otis, my neighbor, called shortly after.

“Everything okay there?”

“Yeah. It’s just so fucking hot.”

“I know. I heard some screams though. Are you sure you’re okay? Cary didn’t return?”

“No, that bumrat didn’t return and if he did, I’ve got the taser. I just put some ice on my body, and it made me squeak a bit.”

“Squeak? Okay. Well, stay cool and be safe.”

Fuck. Stay cool! Stupid thing to say when brownouts are constant, there’s no air conditioning, the fan doesn’t help, and neither do these ice packs! I threw them across the room, and they landed on the kitchen floor. I snorted in disgust as I watched goo ooze out of one. Great, now I have chemicals to clean up. What the hell do I use? Siri, what is the stuff inside ice packs and how do I clean it if leaks? She answers: The leak is a non-toxic superabsorbent polymer or saltwater gel used as an ice substitute. Scoop up the solid or semi-solid clumps with a paper towel and throw them in the trash. Wash the surfaces with warm, soapy water, wipe dry, and discard the broken pack. Do not pour large amounts of gel down the drain because it can clog pipes. Use gloves and follow these steps:

• Scoop first: Use a scraper, spatula, or dry paper towels to scoop the bulk of the gel out of the freezer.

• Throw in trash: Put the collected goop and the leaking pack into the garbage bin.

• Wipe surfaces: Wash the freezer shelves and lining with warm water and mild dish soap.

• Avoid drains: Do not wash large quantities down your kitchen sink, as the polymer can expand and cause a stubborn clog

Yeah, later. I’m too hot for this. I gulp down another iced drink and stick my head under my removable shower head, letting the water run down my neck. Feeling like an overheated dog that just ran a few miles, I turn my face, open my mouth, and let the water hit my tongue. It also goes up my nose, making me choke as it spurts out. Dammit!

Standing up, I peer closely in the mirror; my cheeks are redder, and there is a rash on my chest, spreading to my shoulders. Jell-O Shots? Yeah, they'll make it better. I shove things aside in the freezer to find the ones I made from an Instagram recipe for a party; a party that the heat ruined, since none of my friends have air conditioning. 

I wrap myself in a clean white twin-size sheet and go outside, the blue Jell-O shots in a cup. I don’t know why; it just seems that outside will be cooler, in the open air.

Old people, I mean ancient, with white hair and hunched backs, sit on their porch steps, their backs plastered against posts, overcome by heat exhaustion. One man, his legs covered in gray hair, like his arms, is soaking his feet in a bucket. I watched, wrapped in my percale cotton sheet, as his young relative dumped more ice into the water. Tying the sheet like a sarong, I walked slowly toward some shade trees, yearning to lie down under them. As my feet left the yard’s grass and hit concrete, I realized my mistake. I began high-stepping to get off the scorching path, yelping in pain; my soles burned.

Otis came running, dragging his heavy black water hose, set the water nozzle to full, and blasted my feet to cool them. I tripped on his hose; the Jell-O shots burst across my breasts, turning my neck and not-tanned breasts blue. While I was side-stepping and desperately trying to regain my balance, I got shin-checked by a tricycle. I landed hard, splayed across the tricycle. The sheet was undone, just as I was, and now all my privates were released from my sheet-sarong, gleaming brightly in the sun. Old Sol beat relentlessly on me while construction workers on a high-rise nearby were hooting and whistling. I jumped up to re-wrap myself, but the sheet was tangled with the trike and ripped as I tried to yank it loose. I tried to wrap strips of it around me, like a mummy, turning around and around, but it flapped in the breeze and stuck in every crack of my body. After I’d yanked a strip from my butt crack, I heard guffaws coming from 2 stories up. Rather than trying to cover up, I decided to go with it. I smiled, got into a ready stance, and began an old cheerleading routine. Once I finished, I turned and gallantly walked back to my place, my bare butt cheeks facing the workers. Otis ran toward me with a kitchen towel, but I waved him off. After all, everyone has now seen all of me, and what part of me can be covered by a kitchen towel? What is he thinking? Okay, I give him credit for the gesture. Smiling, I motioned for Otis to set his nozzle spray to “shower.” I turned slowly under the cool spray, lifting my arms overhead, then one leg, followed by the other. I turned my back to the workers and stood under the cool hose water for minutes, then gave them one final front view. I held out my hand to Otis; he shut the nozzle off, draped the hose over his shoulder, and we bowed to the audience. An iced tea was offered to me, and applause broke out, so I raised the glass in a toast.

  Copyright © 8/12/2026 by Andrea O. Corwin