At the risk of stating the blatantly obvious–it is summer here in this part of Midgard, and it is HOT. Wicked hot. Burny hot. Move-to-Muspelheim-for-the-cool-breezes hot. To touch a seat-belt buckle is to risk third-degree burns. Shoppers are looking for tiny shorts, light gauzy tops, inflatable kiddie pools, and enormous watermelons. Fall and cooler weather are just beginning to think about being the merest hints of notions of tiny dots on the far horizon.
Which, is, of course, why I’ve instructed the stores to put out seasonally appropriate merchandise.
Sigyn, would you care to demonstrate?
Drives the human female bonkers.