Too hot to fish, too hot for golf.

Wife started work Monday. I’m still on vacation this week. This would be great except that it’s too hot to wash the car, mow the grass, or form complete thoughts. Fortunately, I’m not in danger of doing any of those things.
So, we went to the mall this weekend. I have come to the uncomfortable conclusion that I have fallen almost entirely outside the demographic that mall culture targets. So, I have had to find new ways to entertain myself while wife does battle with the clearance racks. Like what sort of things you might ask? Go to Spencer’s, find the new fangled high tech fart machines, test them out, and leave before people realize you weren’t testing the machine. Go into Hot Topic: cause, I mean, if they don’t have squares like me to rebel against, sales of chain-bedrenched black stovepipe jeans and “My Chemical Romance” t-shirts would plummet. Sit by the ice rink, because, I mean, how many malls have you seen that conveniently provide a basketball court sized sheet of ice in the middle of July? OK, it’s there all year, but I need this in July. Then there is the classic “make friends with the old men who sit on the bench” game. Or, in a pinch, and I’m not particularly proud of this one, there is people herding. That’s where you use all that stuff you learned in your freshman psych class. Pick a part of a department store with several people in it. Pretend to look at clothes around other shoppers, getting closer and closer to them until you breach the bounds of polite social distance, and move them around like iron filings on a sheet of paper. Good times.