I love the spring. I know, everyone says that because of the whole “Oh look, the world is coming back to life” thing we’ve got going. I love it because I hate the snow so much that I get mad just seeing a Norman Rockwell holiday painting when it’s not Christmas. I’m good with snow at Christmas but the grey crap that’s piled up for weeks on end in our parking lot, taking up 12 spaces has just got to go.
And now that it’s spring, the grey crap had better be gone for good . . . until next Christmas I mean.
So now I can whip out all of my springtime merriment. Out come the fruit scented perfumes (am I the only one that divides her scents into seasons and moods? And while I’m on the perfume subject, does anyone else match her perfume to her outfit?), the bright colored shirts, the eight million technicolored flip flops, plaid shorts (shut up, you know you’re jealous), and the pink eye shadow.
I must admit, I’ll miss the layering with all my jackets and tuxedo shirts that the winter allowed. Springtime calls for short sleeves, which highlight my non-Kelly Ripa upper arms.
Shoot.
And now that it’s spring, the grey crap had better be gone for good . . . until next Christmas I mean.
So now I can whip out all of my springtime merriment. Out come the fruit scented perfumes (am I the only one that divides her scents into seasons and moods? And while I’m on the perfume subject, does anyone else match her perfume to her outfit?), the bright colored shirts, the eight million technicolored flip flops, plaid shorts (shut up, you know you’re jealous), and the pink eye shadow.
I must admit, I’ll miss the layering with all my jackets and tuxedo shirts that the winter allowed. Springtime calls for short sleeves, which highlight my non-Kelly Ripa upper arms.
Shoot.
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