It looked like a City of Loonies today – I saw several dudes walking around in shorts (well, shorts and Sorel boots – it’s a thing) and puddles in the street. And it didn’t get over 23-degrees Farenheit.
I think the deep freeze is done. Oh man, it’ll be 32 tomorrow. Can we handle the insanity?
Alright, 32 or not, I am still brain-dead from winter and could use a shot of warmth and color for the eyes. I plan on a visit to St. Paul’s Como Park Conservatory very soon. I am told by a Como Zoo specialist that I need to get over there before the stroller brigade gets there – around the noon hour, apparently. What I do know is that I don’t want to go over there when the senior party bus gets there. Geez, I feel bad saying that, and I AM PRETTY OLD and all; it’s not the tortoise slowness with which they walk or the way they gang up and block the path when you’re trying to just get through to see the tulips. It’s the perfume/cologne factor. It’s like they’ve got Dementia of the Olfactory Nerve System or something. I hope I never get this terrible affliction. It’s the ladies, usually, who drown themselves in Chanel No. 5 or Shalimar – I’m just taking a stab here at the brands – but they’ve lost all sense of the golden rule of just a tiny drop on your wrists. But when I’m in a heated greenhouse with them, it’s very intense and I need to GET OUT IMMEDIATELY, lest I suffer closed throat and shut up watery eyeballs.
I know, I am being insensitively sensitive.