By now, most of us have melted into the nearest patch of shade, silently praying for rain, yes, rain, in what may be the shortest heatwave Wales has seen since that sunny afternoon back in 1997.
And yet, despite the brief flirtation with actual summer, we’ve gone full British, complaining about the heat like it’s a personal insult.
In a country famed for drizzle,  damp socks,  and moaning about the weather,  you’d think we’d welcome a few rays of sunshine with open arms and an ice cream.
But, no, two days of 27°C, and suddenly it’s “too hot to sleep,” “the tarmac’s melting,” and “you could fry an egg on the bonnet of the car, and I did.”
Let’s not forget that only last week, we were staring out of rain splattered windows, muttering about how it’s “never like this in Spain.”
Fast forward to today, and we’re still moaning, but now about sweating in places we didn’t know existed.
Admit it, we just like to complain. If the weather isn’t giving us a topic, what else would we talk about at the bus stop?
Of course,  while we all dramatically fan ourselves with takeaway menus and discuss DIY air-con strategies (a cold flannel and a prayer), it’s worth remembering, this too shall pass.
By next Tuesday, the rain will return,  your flip-flops will go back in the cupboard, and we’ll be Googling “cheap flights to the Algarve” again.
Until then, stay safe, stay hydrated, and if all else fails, sit in a cold bath with a cuppa and let the great Welsh weather drama continue.
Ha ha. Typical, innit?