Welcome to hump-ville

We're experiencing a God given heat wave. The Swedish summer is often brief - you blink and it's gone - but this year seems to be an exception. The temperature has risen above +30C for a few days in a row, and apparently yesterday, Lund was the hottest town in Europe.

The grass is slowly turning brown and the asphalt is melting, so you have to watch where you put your feet, or a black slick might relieve you of your shoe. A few too many times, I've stepped onto the ground, just to realize my shoe hadn't followed me through the step. Tar is difficult to get off shoes, tar that most asphalt seems to be based on.

The heat jiggles over the ground, like a slightly overweight stripper, and I watch it form mystical shapes on my leg as I stick my feet out from the passenger seat of the car, trying to breathe through the pores, because the air isn't moving, and it's too difficult to inhale it. My lungs feels like they are filled with fire. It's hard to breathe.

I'm not complaining. Too hot is better then too cold. I'm always cold anyway...

We wait in line, three cars ahead, at the automatic car-wash. The sounds of the automatic brushes fills the air. Two cars ahead, the radio is playing silently, Jason Mraz, I'm Yours. I smile, shift the hat on my head, kick my stilettos off, stretch my legs out, waving my toes in the hot air surrounding the car.

"I need washing" is written on the back shield of the Ford right before us. It does need washing, I wonder what color it really is, underneath all that beige dirt. Sweden sheds beige dirt. The roads, the mud, the trees - they all color the world in a sandy beige color, polluting the air with tiny particles that land everywhere and refuse to move. It has rained several times during the blossoming season, not one had the car looked clean...

The open car wash doors are letting a light mist of water drops out, coloring the air ahead in all the beautiful shades in a rainbow, for a moment creating some space to breathe in the otherwise saturated city air. I close my eyes and remember kids playing in the sprinklers back where I grew up - and it always makes me smile.

The line moves, and I climb over to the driver seat, not wanting to get out of the car because I don't want to put my shoes back on. Turn the engine on. Roll a few meters, stop, kill the engine, climb back into passenger seat. Wait...

Afterwards, we go shopping, and I know my legs will hurt like crazy, because I run back and forth with the bags, groceries, and clothes and shoes - did I really need more shoes? - and round and round in the shops, for hours, even though I hate to shop.

Money come and money go and if you're lucky, you get something to show for it. The car is nice and shiny and blue and reflecting the sun so I have to push my sunglasses down to shield my eyes. I adjust the hat, realizing I'm saving myself from a sunstroke, and thank God for long weekends, unloading another bag of stuff into the trunk of the 206CC.

Driving home, over the bridge that the local newspaper as recently as yesterday declared a traffic hazard due to poor construction, and over the 44 that leads into the city, I watch the houses and trees and gas stations flicker before my very eyes, as they pass by outside the car window. It's slightly open and the hot wind ruffles my hair, a few stray strands try to get in my eyes.

I stick my hand out there, feeling the hot air caress is just as the sun minutes ago kissed my face, my shoulders in the lime green tank top that is so loud it might not go unnoticed even at a metal concert. I move my fingers in the wind, feeling it slip over my hand ever so gently. Then I put my hand up, towards the sun, watching my fingers become luminescent, almost see through. The bones in them, the joints - I let them play over the top of the car, closing my eyes, relaxing.

The speed bumps - humps, as I refer to them - come one every 50 meters. They are designed to keep the speed down in residential areas and the city is literary littered with them. Their purpose is drowned out in the sound of roaring engines of 20-something guys that push the gas pedal down to the floor to max out their speed between the humps.

The traffic suddenly stops - at the roundabout, because everybody is taking the outer lane, even if they are going all the way around. I smile. The rhododendrons are in full bloom and even though they clog my sinus, I love the smell of them. Them, and the lilacs that too are in full bloom by the road.

We stop on the parking lot, in the shade, get our bags and go home. Life is good.