Today is April 26, and I’m already convinced that I will not survive the summer.
The weather as of late has been strange. And by “strange”, I mean “indicative of the pending apocolypse”. That’s the only reason I can think of that only a week ago, I was dressing in layers to combat 40 degree temperatures and sideways ice-rain and now I’m wearing my lightest clothes and hoping the people at the restaurant we’re headed to wouldn’t be too put out if I took my brunch in their walk-in freezer.
Seriously, the fact that it’s now 90 degrees in April scares the living daylights out of me. If it’s this hot now, what diabolical plan does Mother Nature have in store for us in, say, July?? I’m a fat girl and the mere mention of “unseasonably warm temperatures” makes the back of my knees sweat.
I know one of my last posts was all about how happy I was that spring had finally sprung, and the world and I were shedding off our winter coats in favor of a blanket of sunshine and blah, blah, blah. I know I sound like a total hypocrite, and I’m totally okay with that. But I’m addicted to cooler weather. Nothing, not even the promise of spring, will ever change that. Oh, Old Man Winter…I wish I knew how to quit you.
