What's hot?

Chicago is. Literally. My shirt is sticking to the small of my back. My cat is sprawled on the floor, looking a lot like a Salvador Dali melting clock. My hair is damp on the back of my neck. I have three air conditioners, four fans and an air filter running and the house still feels relentlessly humid and stagnant. Is it any wonder I'm yearning for fall---and fall fashion---if only because I'm desperate for an end to the stickiness?

I don't even want to think about how much money I've spent avoiding cooking because it's 90 degrees in my kitchen.