Dear Old Man Winter,
I am over it. Don't get me wrong, I loved the blizzard you gave us last week. But I've had my fair share and it's time to move on. Please disregard that stupid Punxsutawney Phil and his prognosis for the untimely arrival of Spring. He's a fat, hairy, smelly liar, I'm certain.
I need sunshine. I need warm breezes. I want to paint my toenails a blazing, obnoxious shade of pink. Wouldn't they be adorable peeking out from these fantastic flats?
What about this coordinating purse? It screams daffodils, lemonade, Easter baskets, filmy fabrics, sandals, wide-brimmed straw hats, azaleas, and tunes from Cole Porter.
I also need pink sunbursts for my earlobes, as a signal of the brighter days to come. It's all for the sake of fashion and the building of my self esteem.
A little daydreaming does wonders for the soul. I refuse to admit to sniffing a bottle of Coppertone, but a gal's gotta do what a gal's gotta do.
I'm over you, Winter. Thanks for playing, but it's time for you to go. Now. Please.