That can’t be right.

I am only 31, gynecologist but I am an old 31.  I knit for fun.  I seldom go out.  I listen to NPR while commuting.  Tonight, sales having feasted on pizza and applied more drywall mud to the living room wall, order I am curled up on my couch with a throw blanket, a hot cup of Darjeeling, and the latest Interweave Knits.  Later I will wash the children, put them to bed, and try to stay awake through the football game.  I may knit a hat.  It’s really rather pathetic, but I’m a happy pathetic person.

As I was (half) listening to NPR on the way home, I caught the local weather forecast.

“. . . and tomorrow’s high will be 26.”

Nah, that can’t possibly be right.  It’s colder than a witch’s tit out there now and it’s 33.  Twenty six must be the low.  I’ll check the paper’s forecast.

It said 30.  The local tv news says 28.

I accept that I live at roughly 42deg latitude.  I accept that we have seasons.  I accept that summer is long since over and I have no right to expect it to be warm outside today.  BUT TWENTY-SIX?!?!?!

It usually takes me until February to hate the cold with this much passion.  I wish I could get as much of a jump on my holiday shopping as I am on the weather.

Excuse me for a moment, I have to yell at the children for de-stuffing the throw pillows and shoving the polyfill down Anna’s shirt.

That’s better.

Anna still believes that cauliflower grows on the moon.  Today a coworker gave me a brilliant way to entertain gullible children in warmer weather.  It involves convincing them that if they sprinkle salt on a bird’s tail, it won’t be able to fly away, rendering it easy to catch.  I am so going to try this as soon as the weather is reasonable again.  Perhaps in May.

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