 | Hey, you. Old Man Winter. Can we talk? I’m freezin’ over here, Man. Can you chill, dude? No, no, not literally; figuratively. Sorry. My bad. |
You’re cool Man, still the boss, but I gotta tell you, I'm losing all interest in the winter wonderland thing with the single digit temps. And what's with the brutal wind chill? You're adding insult to injury with all the negativity emanating from your numbers.
What! Who told you less is more?
What! Who told you less is more?
My frost-flowers look more like birds taking flight. I'd like a flight to Florida. Just sayin'.
That’s minimalist mumbo jumbo. Forget Mies van der Rohe.
Did you forget water freezes at 32 degrees Fahrenheit? Like magic, glistening icicles take shape; rain turns to fluffy snowflakes, each flake an individual work of art; beautiful little frost-flowers bloom all over my north-facing windows. You’re the Man, Winter. There’s nothing more beautiful than the peace and serenity of the sun coming up on a blanket of freshly fallen snow. But could we not get carried away? Twenty-five below is beyond brutal. I saw the sci-fi disaster film, The Day After Tomorrow. Please tell me this latest Arctic blast is not ushering in the next ice age.
Have you been talking to Al Gore? I know global warming is a hot topic in the 21st century; increased ice melt, rising ocean temps, more carbon emissions. Is this what the wicked weather is all about?
Hey, I’ve reduced my emissions two-fold since eliminating dairy and gluten from my diet six months ago. I do what I can to save the planet. Did I mention I drive a hybrid? I’m loving the karma courtesy of 38 mpg; the wicked weather, not so much. No reflection on you, Old Man Winter. You’ve been nothing but charming for the last few months, so warm, so easy-breezy. But why the cold shoulder now?
Was it something I said? Don’t mind me. I’m like the weatherman; right 50% of the time. Unless of course you live in LA, which right about now would be heavenly.
Have you considered the chance you might be bipolar? Well, of course you’re bipolar. Duh. The planet has two poles. Explains the mood swings.
Hey, I was once the mother of all mood swings. I’d blow hot one minute, cold the next. It was all those hormones fizzling faster than fireworks on the 4th of July. Not fast enough if you ask me. Suffice it to say, menopause was a beeotch!
Yeah, not your thing. I get it. Not to worry. Whatever your thing, it is what it is.
I’ll bundle up. And shut up.
Mums the word; so is BRRRRRRRR!
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Did you forget water freezes at 32 degrees Fahrenheit? Like magic, glistening icicles take shape; rain turns to fluffy snowflakes, each flake an individual work of art; beautiful little frost-flowers bloom all over my north-facing windows. You’re the Man, Winter. There’s nothing more beautiful than the peace and serenity of the sun coming up on a blanket of freshly fallen snow. But could we not get carried away? Twenty-five below is beyond brutal. I saw the sci-fi disaster film, The Day After Tomorrow. Please tell me this latest Arctic blast is not ushering in the next ice age.
Have you been talking to Al Gore? I know global warming is a hot topic in the 21st century; increased ice melt, rising ocean temps, more carbon emissions. Is this what the wicked weather is all about?
Hey, I’ve reduced my emissions two-fold since eliminating dairy and gluten from my diet six months ago. I do what I can to save the planet. Did I mention I drive a hybrid? I’m loving the karma courtesy of 38 mpg; the wicked weather, not so much. No reflection on you, Old Man Winter. You’ve been nothing but charming for the last few months, so warm, so easy-breezy. But why the cold shoulder now?
Was it something I said? Don’t mind me. I’m like the weatherman; right 50% of the time. Unless of course you live in LA, which right about now would be heavenly.
Have you considered the chance you might be bipolar? Well, of course you’re bipolar. Duh. The planet has two poles. Explains the mood swings.
Hey, I was once the mother of all mood swings. I’d blow hot one minute, cold the next. It was all those hormones fizzling faster than fireworks on the 4th of July. Not fast enough if you ask me. Suffice it to say, menopause was a beeotch!
Yeah, not your thing. I get it. Not to worry. Whatever your thing, it is what it is.
I’ll bundle up. And shut up.
Mums the word; so is BRRRRRRRR!
------------------
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