Well, with snow glaring at me from every angle, I have decided I am going on strike until spring shows her lovely head. BAH! I am done with this winter business, and have had quite enough of all this frozen precipitation and cold.
I admire winter, and those who worship it, but dammit, Dale, enough of your snow dances! My friends, I am quite sure this winter of endless snow, which admittedly will be a grace to our water table come summer, is all her fault. And that darn sister of hers just encourages this behaviour. The two of them were commiserating on the ski hill today, you know, and likely offering up bundles of jelly beans tied in knitted touques and raspberry sorbetto to the snowgods. Probably got it from Gerry's Gelato, too, the wretched women. I will try and dash their plans for endless runs on the ski hill by plying them with wine and brainswashing them to give up on their dastardly conspiracy, but should I fail, know I went down with shouts of "Spring approaches! Long live the begonias! All hail coconut sunscreen!"
My open toed sandals weep sad little shoe tears in the corner of my closet, and though today did boast a blue sky, I need to see more of that soon or I fear I will run away with the Ferrions forever!
I want to see green grass and flower buds and all that sappy sentimental crap, and I want it soon. Damn groundhog and his eight more weeks of winter. That was what he saw, right? I was frankly to afraid to read any reports on that subject, for fear it would drive me into a frenzied binge of malted milk balls and espresso.
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