The grass is always greener. Unless it's still frozen. And brown.
Now, we're all ready for winter to be over. Lately, however, as the wind stings my face when I take my dog around the block at 3 a.m. ? begging her to go, if only to feel the warmth inside the doggie bag defrost my numb fingers ? I try to remember that moment in June when I'll be equally miserable in a much different way.
I even made up a song about it, and it goes a little something like this:
"Lady Poppins' (Least) Favorite Things" Ice on the sidewalks and flu in our bodies, Winds from the river that chill our Hot Toddies, Taxis that splatter and swerve right on by, Winter's not over, I say with a sigh. Mittens gone missing, snot dribbling from noses, Snow dusting everything, even the roses, All the bottoms of my pants with white residue, Five dollar coat checks that used to be two. When the snow melts, and there's dog poop Under every last pile. I try to remember that summery hell, And then I feel warm and smile. Smells from hot garbage and heat from the sewers, ACs that drip as you yell at the movers, Everything's harder to do when you're hot, Did you think that's a complement - sorry it's not. When the wind whips, when your hat lands, In a puddle of sludge, I try to remember June's sweaty disgust, When layers can't hide my pudge. Sweat on my shoulders and under my hair, Sweat dripping down my back, way down to there, Tugging on shorts as they ride up my thigh, Summer I hate you so much I could cry. When the snow melts, and there's dog poop Under every last pile. I simply remember that summery hell, And then I feel warm and smile.
