Frozen Yoghurt My Arse
Hullo there my naked penguins,
The whether here is a little more than that of the unexpected kind. It’s as if the whole bloody country is lying next to a broken oven. Every morning it’s cool with temperatures around 10-15 degrees, so of course you put on an extra thick sweater or bring a lighter jacket, but as soon as that clock hits noon, the oven starts doing what it does best; burn shit.
It was 27 degrees when I got home this Thursday, 27 fothermucking degrees. I’m not programmed for that shit if my last entry is anything to go by.
Now, as archetypal students, me and Karin (one of my brilliant know-it-all friends from uni) headed into campus to study for an upcoming exam. In the middle of it, we decided to head to the city centre for some ice-cream and this frozen yogurt thing I’ve never tried before.
We sat outside in the sun. It was hot, humid and sunny. I was not amused; she was happily licking away on that ice cream of hers while smiling at the D-vitamin attacking her body.
I was so certain that when you live where you get -40’s in the winter, you won’t get +30’s in the summer. I guess I was wrong.
Cheers.