SUPER pleasant, I believe.
I’m a total warm-weather whore. You know, the good kind o’ ho.
It’s about this time every year that I’m gleefully reminded that winter does not, in fact, last forever. I tentatively exchange my wool socks for cotton, and then, as per usual, am betrayed by an ice storm or something equally miserable.
I had some serious plans to head west this past weekend, visit some family, see my old dentist (I don’t fully trust my new dentist), spend two full nights with my favorite roommates (husband withstanding), grab a meal with the sister, and then back home for a warm welcome.
Winter weather, that scoundrel, ruined those plans.
So like any mature adult whose weekend plans were interrupted, I threw myself a bit of a mope fest, made John do the dishes, and watched raunchy television with wine and a frown (seriously, SKINS. Totally inappropriate, but I’m hooked).
BUT as a testament to my official up-and-coming-can-you-believe-it-1-year-anniversary-of-official-relocation (which ignores those weeks/months that I semi-shared John’s studio apartment, an event that truly tested the depths of our mutual adoration), some new friends ended up meeting for happy hour, and checked in to see if I was in town, just in case. John and I took ourselves on a date, and he indulged me in some furniture-rearranging I’ve been plotting the past few days. We made banana bread. I called my seester.
It all turned out ok.
And look, the sun is shining again.