There are two main reasons I try not to complain about the weather, and they both have to do with my southern heritage. First and foremost is that as a southern girl, and I am born and bred to please. Genteel manners are in my blood, and a lady never lets on that she is not in a state of supreme comfort. Secondly, I still really have no concept of what is normal for the weather up here, and I refuse to be that cliche, just another Dixie redneck who can’t hack the cold.
Luckily, y’all, those reasons have gone out the frosty window now that everyone, and I mean EVERYONE, is complaining to me about the weather. And thus, I say to Boston, on this bitterly cold Wednesday in a sea of bitterly cold days, DUBYA TEE EFF.
I am done. Done with my drippy nose, my numb fingers, my arse that tenses when I walk outside my front door. I am DONE. But unlike other activities I decide I’m finished with, being done does not mean I will be any less forced to deal with this weather. But I don’t have to like it any more. You hear that, Boston? I DON’T LIKE YOU MUCH RIGHT NOW.
{That’s about as harsh as my criticisms get, but I mean it with all my heart.}
And yes, I’m sorry I’m using the blog again as my personal punching bag, but what good is it if not a repository for my bitching, moaning, and aimless ranting? Sigh. Okay, I suppose I should end with cute pictures of my kids, which I can only hope make up for all manner of blogging sins. Please say yes?
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| {8/52}: Vivi has two less teeth than when I took this pic. |
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| {9/52}: Writing her name! My big girl. |
I am, XOXO, etc., your cranky pal,
~J