Tales From the Dairy Air

A few days ago our furnace broke. It just wouldn't kick on. The thermostat told us it was 63 degrees in our apartment. 63 degrees is brrrrrrrrrr. Just knowing it was that cold made it that much worse. Imagine me hunched over my laptop with fingerless gloves on, swaddled in layers of cotton and fleece. Makes you wanna go boil some water, throw on the hot water in the shower and let it run, just because you can.

And then just yesterday I walked Trail in the rain. My pants got wet. My hair escaped out the side of my hood and started clinging to the side of my face. The wind off the lake picked up and pelted me mercilessly. I picked Trail's tennis ball up out of the dirt, wiped my hair out of my face and suddenly, there I was - wet, cold, dirty, annoyed, heavy-legged and a good .8 of a mile from home. I'm telling you, all I was missing was the backpack.

Ever since that long walk I've been particularly sensitive to how much I hate being cold - not to mention cold and wet. The great thing is that I get cold a lot less easier. Maybe that's why these broken-furnace and soggy-walking days have been so hard on me.

But nowhere near as hard as they've been on this girl.