Welcome to summer in New York City, that magical time when garbage stews on the sidewalk, subway platforms feel like a gateway to hell and walking one block leaves you soaked like a wet sponge after your husband does the dishes…you and the sponge both need to be rung out.

Yes, friends it is heatwave season. Again. Mother Nature is clearly holding a grudge after all the pro-environmental bills were cancelled by the Big Ugly Bill.

The official guidance is “stay indoors, stay cool and stay hydrated.”

Let’s unpack what that really means in New York.

Reality is you are now trapped in a 950-square-foot apartment with overworked A/C and soaring ConEd prices and the growing realization that your walls are cracking because you live in an elite 1929 landmark building which only means your taxes are higher and your building shifts and you cannot have a washer/dryer because this prestigious landmark Coop has antiquated plumbing.

Remember, it’s better to look good than feel good or have modern plumbing.

Another issue is agoraphobia which starts to creep in after Day 2. You begin talking back to your TV. You spend hours rearranging your kitchen cabinets, cleaning closets and rechecking expiration dates.

You clean out that “junk drawer” which is actually a graveyard for 17 chargers that don’t fit anything anymore because Apple never considers compatibility when releasing a new iPhone model.

Sure, fresh air sounds good until you open the door and get hit with a face full of hot soup masquerading as oxygen.

Sidewalks radiate like stovetops. People have given up on looking decent and are now walking around in what can only be described as laundry-day athleisure wear.

And let’s talk about the scent bouquet. A heady blend of dog pee, weed smoke and whatever died in that uncollected trash container across the street. Honestly, it’s impressive. New York should bottle this and sell it to tourists as City (Elon) Musk.

You could venture out and wander into a Duane Reade and linger in the freezer aisle pretending to compare fat grams on dented frosty cardboard ice cream containers while subtly pressing your forehead to the glass.

Reality says to embrace the madness. You oscillate between sweating outside and spiraling inside. You hydrate with an $7.50 iced coffee and head home.

You could go to a movie, but I have no patience for open discussions during the film and there are way too many tourists at the Metropolitan Museum of Art these days.

You wear less. You care less. Your hair is under cover.

You remind yourself that this is temporary. Fall will come, but then you have to change your closets and that involves intensive manual labor.

Oh well, until then stay cool and reject the idea of redecorating your apartment and spending a shit load of time buying deals on Amazon Prime Day unless it is an upgraded AC or a superb hand fan.

My husband had heat stroke when he saw the endless charges from Amazon last month…at least it wasn’t Bergdorf Goodman…why so hot and bothered, my toasted honey bun?!