MAN But You're Pale, Aren't You?

In a bid to test our weather mettle one more time – or perhaps in just a perverse display of “because I can!” – the temperature this morning dropped to a meat-preserving 18 degrees.

And frankly, I was against it.

It was a shock. While 18 degrees in February is almost cause for an open window or two, 18 degrees mid-March is grounds for hot baths, discussions pitting wool against “thinsulate” and introspection regarding attempting a life lived entirely indoors.

My response, if it can be called that, was to add a cap, gloves, and scarf to my jaunty spring jacket and shiver miserably.

“Local Woman, Smug in her Ability to Dress Properly for Winter, Fails to Carry Common Sense Through to Spring”.

It’s not much of a headline, but then again, there’s not a lot going on.

March is a fairly quiet month. The thugs are just rising from their hibernation, their tobacco-stained fingers rubbing their squinty little eyes, yawning their cough-syrup-and-Tahitian-Treat yawns toward the far walls.

Shhh. Shhh, my pretties. There will plenty of time for you to spray paint your creatively-spelled “tags” on my garage.

Can summer be far behind? And speaking of behinds, what are the odds that I will actually make it to a beach this summer?

In the meantime, of course, there is litter to pick up and a sidewalk to be swept, neighbors to be reacquainted with after a season of run-away indoor-ness and charcoal briquettes to be purchased.

“Local Woman Waxes Rhapsodic About Spring, Excitedly Contemplates Trying on Swimsuit.”



Let’s not go crazy just yet.