I want my money back. I distinctly remember hearing that if I moved to Northern Virginia, I’d be able to “freeze my butt off” in the winter on top of this damn mountain. Well, my posterior is still as jiggly as ever and that hibernation-sized pizza I ate back in November is flaunting itself on my thighs. Exercise? Please. I get enough exercise climbing up the mountain during ice storms when my car slides into the ditch. You’d think that pushing my car out of a snow bank would do something for my cardio. I am starting to appreciate the winks I’m getting from the tow truck drivers sent to pull me out of the ditches every week, however. That delicate glow of sweat and dirt-flecked cheeks would turn any man’s head.
What I haven’t lost in rump, I’m making up for in loss of feeling in my fingers. Weeks of single digit weather have left me with questionable dexterity. I’ll go ahead and apologize now for the mis-dialed numbers and cursing into the phone after I mistakenly hit the speaker button. I’m sure your mother had nothing to do with an elephant and a racecar driver.
It’s going to be a long winter. I’d better order more pizza.