Whoever said winter was over deserves a good smack.
This morning, unbeknownst to me, the temperature had dropped so low that I am now wrapped in an electric blanket. It’s true, so if I suddenly jump a letter just assume my blankie and I had a short.
Once you’re half way round the track you have no choice but to keep going. I was so cold my boobs resembled missiles sating my curiosity at how I’d look as an action figure.
I personally think when the temperature drops 55 degrees in one swoop someone like Paul Revere should drop by and tell me and yes, I could have called the weather but didn’t.
The entire park seemed under siege with everything and everyone blowing at full velocity. You should have seen the daffodils. My heart went out to them thinking, if only they came with sweaters.
Mother nature clearly didn’t take her meds this morning.
I felt so sorry for 1 guy who was trying to pretend he was unaffected. He was stretching by a picnic table with biceps the color of plums. Did he really think his stock would go down if he shivered a little?
After my run that was more like a mad dash I said to him, “It really got cold, didn’t it?”
“You think this is cold?” he said doing knee bends at 100 miles an hour, “nah, it’s brisk is all.”
Yeah, brisk my frozen ass; then how come those 2 little stray hairs on your empty head are standing up like icicles?
No I didn’t say that, I was too cold to be even remotely clever but it would have served him right.
There’s a time and place for testosterone and this wasn’t it. I mean what’s the point if it makes you a candidate for double pneumonia.
I felt sorriest for the geese who looked like decoys perched along the reservoir. You know, the kind you get from L. L. Bean for your den?
You’d think they’d have a built-in thermostat so they could adjust better. I saw one couple sitting so close to each other they could have been a chair. Now I understand why they mate for life, it’s warmer.
Then like a bad joke who do I see wogging, my pal Ali’s term for running a bit too slow, but Mr. G, the weatherman.
“Hey, Mr. G,” I called out, “what’s with this cold front all of a sudden?”
“I don’t know, you tell me,” he said staring at my chest that could have reported to work at the Pentagon.
Yes, I do know him well enough where I suppose he can make fun of me, but humor really wasn’t what I was after when I asked the question. I wanted him to tell me to relax, it would be a balmy 65 degrees by noon.
We always assume weather people know everything but they don’t. Half the time Mr. G’s forecast is wrong but he manages to keep his job anyway. Somebody at channel 11 must owe him money. Did you know his first name is Irving?
Anyway, I’m finally warm now and hope when you read this tomorrow we can all say, it’s so springlike out that Susannah must have imagined it all, poor dear.