Every year, I am duped by the weather in Michigan. After yet another long and horrible winter, the sun-- that vapid whore with her false promises of warmth and joy-- seduces me into believing that now, that snow and wet and dirty slush is all over. That life will be nothing but frolicking in fields of green for all times. And just as I begin to think that perhaps I can enjoy the graying warmth of December all season, Mother Fucking Nature takes a big, snowy dump all over my plans. Where's the sun now? Oh, she's off courting her Johns in the Souther Hemisphere. But she still loves you baby, hey-ay. Whatever. That bitch. "I'm gonna leave you to freeze and slide all over the damn road, but I'll still shoot a solar flare at you every now and then, just to, you know, make sure your cell reception is shit.
The good news is, I'm holed up at Dino's with a big giant cup of pumpkin spice chai (tastes like the red flavor of ACT mouthwash, really), and later I get to shop for work pants for my husband. The tax on the work pants shopping is a copy of The Tudors, Season 1 on DVD. The guy that plays King Henry in that would almost be schmecksy, but he looks way too much like one of my cousins for me to go to that particular place.
And the snow, still she falls down.
I learned today, for the first time, that there is a cabbage-like vegetable called rape. I'm going to plant a whole garden of it. That way, I can tell people that I've spent all day working on my rape, and I can keep them informed of how my rape is coming along. Also, I can stand at my garden's edge and say, "Look how lovely the rape is today."
Tell me something to cheer me up. I don't care if it's true or not, make it up if you have to. And make it sound warm. Or, give me recipe suggestions for how I should prepare my rape.