Where the feck is spring?

Okay, I'm officially pissed off. It's spring, or close enough dammit, and it was -16 with the windchill this morning as I waited for my train.

-16.

It's March 20th.

Suddenly, I'm not all that convinced about the whole global warming thing.

Kidding of course, but come on!!! I know it's supposed to go up to 10 or 18 or 99 or something like that in the next day or so (no wonder everyone is getting sick - how the hell do you know what to wear in the morning these days??) but today was just plain not fair. Last week, I was wearing my pink zip up sweater/jacket thingie, and today, out comes the fuchsia pea coat and the fluffy white scarf.

Scarf!!

It's March 20th.

This totally sucks. I really hope we're turning the corner weather wise, or else I'm one step closer to a warm bath with a side of razor blade. Kidding of course....but I'm starting to believe that we've been sucked into some weird weather wormhole where spring was in November and December, and then we just cycled right back to winter.

Sigh.

Spring is my favourite season. It's like a reward for being patient, for making it through the trials and tribulations that are winter. It's the shedding of the outer layers, the rebirth of pastels, and bhjc...

Oops, sorry, Hubs is trying to bite my ear right now...hard to concentrate...he's a right wee bastard sometimes. What's a girl (OW!) gotta do to write her diva bloggie unencumbered?

And we're back. Profound apologies - you should never have to see that. But here we are.

As I was saying, it's the shedding of the outer layers, the rebirth of pastels, and, perhaps my favourite, the advent of the end of socks!!

Yes, you read that right. I hate socks. With a passion. Don't ask me why, but I don't like the extra step in the morning nor do I enjoy sentencing my tender tootsies to 11 hours of cotton/poly blend prison. Spring means summer is coming, and with summer comes an explosion of new footwear options for me, ones that mean no more sockies. Bliss.

Having said all of this, I really hate feet. Mine, yours, Hubs', anyone's. Feet totally gross me out. Like don't ever touch me with your feet. Even as you read this, were you to touch your computer with your foot while you read my words, I'd feel it and shudder.

I know it makes little or no sense. I was fine for years, until my BFF at the time (a boy - can you imagine?!) let me in on his foot phobia - and I caught it. And I haven't been able to shake it yet.

Anywho - wow, very tangent-y post today, I must be exhausted - all of this to say that I most sincerely hope that tomorrow brings spring-like temps and conditions, otherwise I refuse to be held accountable for my actions. How do you like that, Mother Nature? It's on you if things don't go well tomorrow....it's all on you.

-4 in the morning, 7 and sunny in the afternoon, 6 and rain in the evening. That's tomorrow's weather forecast for my little corner of the world. Now you tell me, my lovely readers, how the hell does one choose suitable attire for a day like tomorrow? Especially when you're off to dinner and the theatre after work? I just don't want to wear my heavy coat if it's going to be warmer and wet in the evening, but I also don't want to freeze my generous sized ass off at the GO station in the glow of early morn.

Well, the truth of it all is that I'm seriously too tired to put together the potential pieces that will, when aligned in exquisite harmony, make the perfect outfit for what will be March 21. Alas...now I'll have plenty of fodder for my dreams. Let's just hope I can remember the outcomes when I wake. At 6:20, to -4 weather.

I just keep telling myself things can only get better from here, things can only get better from here. Can you hear me clicking my socked heels together three times??

And that's your daily dash. How's your diva doin'?