That's it. That's all I want to talk about.
I've taken offense to this recent weather development. Just when we start to hit the 50 degree mark, a brief reminder that spring is on its way, we get dumped on with a billion inches of snow.
Remember, I love snow. Love, love, love it. In December. And January. But eventually, as with peanut butter on an English muffin every single day, I get sick of it. Really stinkin' sick.
It takes me 15 minutes to get dressed just to let the dog out to do his business. And I have to wear two pairs of pants at all times. Don't even get me started on the frump-factor of said pants, they score off the charts, my co-workers can verify.
And I slip and slide wherever I go. Walking the dog, walking to my car, standing in the driveway. When I'm struggling to regain footing I put my panic face on, which is a very contorted version of my own. With the face comes an inside-voice scream/holler/"whhooooeeeeaaaooowww!"
It's embarrassing, to say the least.
I need spring to be here.