Kyiv is melting, while we burn with shame?

No, thanks.
Kyiv is sweltering right now; the thermometers on the buildings are quietly weeping, the asphalt is sticking to the soles of my shoes, and the air feels like a scorching sauna. All sensible people are hunkered down indoors with the AC on. But I decided: if the city has turned into the tropics, I’m going to act the part—wild, free, and pushing the boundaries.

Yesterday evening started off mundanely enough: it was so stifling that my brain was melting faster than ice cream. I found myself at a swanky spot in Podil. I was sitting at a table, lazily stirring an iced lemonade, wearing a little black dress that used less fabric than my ex had a conscience.

At the next table sat a classic Kyiv character. You know the type: wearing designer loafers without socks and a watch worth as much as a decent foreign car, with the face of a man who had just bought the entire city wholesale and was now wondering whom to resell it to at a markup. Beside him was a miserable young woman, cinched tight into a corset, afraid to even take a breath lest she ruin that expensive-doll facade.

And then this "master of the universe" starts loudly and contemptuously holding forth to someone on his phone, for the whole outdoor terrace to hear:

— "These modern broads have absolutely no sense of boundaries. They can’t cook, they can’t keep their mouths shut—all they do is make demands and stare at their phones. In a word—empty-headed airheads..."

My internal barometer spiked faster than the temperature of the Kyiv air at noon. I certainly wasn’t going to put up with that sexist nonsense in 38°C heat.

I stood up silently, walked over to their table, picked up his glass of expensive whisky on the rocks, took a deliberate sip, looked him straight in the eye, and said in the most honeyed voice imaginable:

“Darling, you’re right. Airheads at least don’t take up so much space or radiate such dreary melancholy. You, on the other hand, are so pathetic that even the ice in your glass melted out of sheer embarrassment. Relax, forget your insecurities, and breathe through your nose—while we’re still letting you.”

The silence was so ringing that it seemed as if cars in neighboring blocks had stalled. The poor guy choked on thin air—his self-important posturing brought crashing down to earth in a split second—while his buddies at nearby tables could barely stifle their guffaws.

I silently set the empty glass back down, winked at his stunned companion (who was staring at me with saucer-sized eyes), and glided toward the exit to the click-clack of my heels.

Stepping outside, where the night air of Kyiv washed over me with welcome coolness, I thought: damn, the heat really works wonders. It burns away all that silly modesty, insecurities, and other people's expectations.

Girls, remember this summer’s rule: if the world tries to roast you to a crisp, make sure your comeback leaves the people around you burning in entirely different places.

How is your summer going? Share in the comments—who have you managed to drive absolutely mad this week?