Well, it finally happened; winter got the best of me.
It challenged me to a staring contest and I blinked first. I snapped. As a result, I lost my ever-loving mind and began doing unimaginable things. It all begins in the closet. Actually, no – it begins with yet another forecast threatening snow, ice pellets and blowing winds in below-zero temperatures. It ends in the closet.
You see, every year I swear I will not get frustrated with winter. Being a Canadian, winter is a part of the deal. How can we claim to be superior to those to the south of us if we can’t take a few months of bone-chilling cold? To be fair, this winter was rather wimpy. It didn’t even provide me with a good backyard skating rink, for goodness sakes. Let’s face it: winters aren’t what they used to be. It seems winter showed up late for the party. Now I would like to announce that the party is over and my patio set would like a turn in the spotlight. I want to see my lawn.
This always happens to me in March. I start to get the spring itch. The birds get frisky, the skunks frolic behind the back shed, the rabbit tracks lead to a private den of romance somewhere and I am ever hopeful that the first signs of spring will appear in my garden (What? You thought I was hoping for romance too? Hockey season isn’t over yet. Get serious). I don’t even like to garden, but that’s how much I need spring.
This week’s forecast seemed to suggest I would have to endure more frozen neighbourhood walks with a shivering puppy and my own tired fashions of bulky sweaters under an even bulkier coat, with mismatched mittens (due to the puppy) and goofy tuques – you know, the ones you thought were cute in October but by March you hate them?
Winter broke my spirit, I tell you; so much so that I did the unthinkable: I had a girlie moment and fell for a pair of shoes that won’t even come into season at this rate for ten weeks. Gasp. It’s true. I purchased a pair of coral coloured ballet flats. Worse still, I didn’t even try them on, I just hoped for the best. You know, hope springs eternal? I wanted to put a little spring in my step. And that’s not the worst part.
Not only was this fiscally irresponsible (at $15 they were still not in the budget), but when I behave like a girlie-girl, like when I squeal over a sale item or make cheerful purchases without restraint, somewhere in the universe something is amiss and you should all be very afraid. Meteors have nothing on my random acts of femaleness. It is deeply unsettling when I step out of my tomboy ways.
But things got much worse. On Sunday morning, I reached into my closet and found myself holding those coral ballet flats in my hands and began talking to them aloud (for real). I heard myself say, “don’t you worry, we’ll be together soon and we will have great adventures. I promise.” Oh the shame. Damn you, winter.
Don’t judge me. I just want a little colour back in my life and shoes without socks, and whimsical skirts and pedicured feet. Is that too much to ask? Yep. I’ve lost it.