These are good boots, but I’m really starting to hate them. They have been constantly on my feet or here, by the heat vent, for months. I’m losin’ it. There is a scene in Bette Davis’s “The Great Lie” where a pregnant Mary Astor, a NYC party girl who is being kept in a cabin to keep her healthy until the baby is born, runs out into a desert sandstorm shrieking. There is a scene in “Fargo” where William Macy starts beating his car with an ice scraper. I’m right there with them. I am fed up with this winter. I’ve been patient, I’ve been good, but it just keeps coming! I think we should find Phil the groundhog, Woody the woodchuck, and any other pesky fortune-telling smelly rodent we can find, we grab them around their necks, squeeze until their eyes bulge, and tell them if they want to take another breath they better give us spring NOW! Not in two months, six weeks, or even tomorrow. NOW!
I feel better now. Time to go shovel more snow.