On behalf of every grey sweater in my closet, every rolled up pair of wool socks and the spectrum of coloured infinity scarves looped around my closet hangers, I beg you Mother Nature, give me spring.
Pretty please, with tulips on top.
Oh, I know you hear this whining all the time, but my needs are specific. I don’t want the seasons to change because I’m bitter you made it snow (a lot) this week.
I’m over the ice storm that took out my favourite tree. (So over it. Totally forgiven.)
And I am okay that winter finally showed up in spring. I’m a Canadian so I’ll even apologize that my first thought with all this nasty weather was, “it’s about time.”
Winter was wimpy, after all. Sorry. That’s very rude of me. Apologies. Perhaps you got distracted, or lost track of the seasons. It happens. I get it.
Sometimes I forget to clean the cat box because I get distracted that the washer machine light is on, so I open the dryer, and then realize I forgot the laundry in the dyer, so I take it out and drop it on the bed, but then a dust bunny rolls out from under my dresser. So I go get the vacuum and suck it up, and then remember I’d put the kettle on and then, the cat meows for a treat and poof, light-bulb moment: I was supposed to clean the litter box.
I figure that’s what happened to spring. You started to make April beautiful and warm, with green buds popping up in my garden and then, you remembered January and made that happen instead. It’s okay. Let’s let bygones be bygones.
But if it’s not too much to ask, I need spring to begin pronto. It’s a wardrobe issue, frankly. If I’m honest, it’s deeper than that. It’s a self-esteem issue. I now officially loathe my winter wardrobe. I simply cannot bear another day of socks. I am bored stiff with my all-weather leather boots.
My pouffy orange jacket, although warm, would like to retire. Plus, I am tired of layers of variations of the colours black, white and grey. Enough already.
This is as close to girlie as I’m going to get, Mother Nature, so listen up please.
Don’t make me repeat myself. I am embarrassed to admit this, but I miss dresses and skirts. There. I said it. If you will just give me warm days and sunshine, I promise I will shave my legs on the spring schedule, known as “always ready” grooming (as opposed to the “dead of winter no fly zone” approach). Deal?
I miss little shoes in bright colours and the look on the Carpenter’s face when I go from a winter wardrobe of two pairs of shoes, to a summer one of a dozen. It perplexes him greatly, but he won’t dare say a word. I pay for them all myself. Opinions are not welcome.
I want to run around barefoot and, forgive me, but I love a pedicure. If I’m going to invest in pretty feet, I’d like to at least show them off. There is nothing sexy about socks.
So, while I lack a feminine mystique, and some would say a sense of fashion, I could use some colour.
Bring back spring. Please.