Today I’m freezing my fingers and toes and nose off — it’s hovering around 20 degrees outside, 8 if you take the wind chill into account — and I’m seriously contemplating lighting the contents of my trash can on fire.
If I only had a match.
If I could only block all of the e-mails encouraging me to travel to Italy for the weekend, or to check out hotel deals in the Caribbean. These online deal generators must know that my part of the country is experiencing an “arctic blast” right now (yep, that’s what the weatherman called it on Good Morning America this morning), and that must cue them into an automated e-mail sending frenzy, trying to reach out to as many cold-weather-intolerant people who have just realized that they don’t own nearly enough articles of clothing made out of wool.
If I only had a savings account that would allow me to book a one-way ticket to Australia or Belize or the Sahara Desert, departing right now.
If I only could afford to fix the seat warmer in my car.
If I only owned a one-piece snow suit. With footies.
If I only was dating a man who a) knew how to install insulation, b) knew how to install new triple-paned windows, and c) liked to snuggle.
If I could only switch places with Courtney right now, because she’s in Hawai’i — 78 degrees and partly cloudy — celebrating her birthday.
Let’s face it — the closest I’m going to get to lying on a beach this weekend is by guest posting over at Word Perv. My post is the very first guest post from her trip, so it’s up right after the post where she announced her departure and included a photo of a sunset at the beach.
Yeah… right now I’m lookin’ at that palm-tree dotted image while a tiny space heater tries to defrost my ankles, and all I can think to say is…
If I only could convince myself she was in North Dakota.