So, lately I’ve been trying to avoid taking the dogs out in the morning. It is in the best interest of my warm toes that I pretend to be asleep or critically low on coffee intake until Mr. T lets the dogs out.
This morning I looked outside and our carport was covered in wet. This entire winter season, all we’ve gotten is balls of ice and a bunch of damn rain. There’s no walkin in a winter wonderland around here. It drained the holidays of that whole Whooville ‘bahoo boris dahoo doris’ thing that seeps inside your brain like the springy boiled crocodile tongues on James and the Giant Peach. Winter in Ohio sucks in general, but we usually at least have a covering of pretty snow to chuck at each other or roll around in. It really brightens things up before it turns into piles of gray ass-dribble by the side of the road.
Anyway, Mr. T left before I could dump dog duty on him (duty, not doody). I went to let the Mogwai out and I was hit in the face with a warm breeze. Yep. Apparently all those snow drifts in Vegas are balancing things out a bit here in the Midwest. By the time Mogwai was done and Big Z was having her turn on the cable run, I was outside in a folding chair enjoying 67 degree weather with my coffee. 67 degree weather two days after Christmas. I even started glancing around at the grass and breathing in fresh air. Did those weeds need pulling?
Just then, Al Gore floated over to me with a hot breeze in his Trump Jr. haircut and his palms pointing skyward. He was probably going to do some sort of ‘I told you so’ bit, but I got freaked out and went inside. Wouldn’t you?