That's the current temperature. A week from now, the weather man tells me it might (might) get up to 45. I'm not holding my breath, Pete Bouchard. This is what it looks like outside of my office right now. One foot of snow and at least three days of sub-freezing temperatures in front of me. I'm usually tough about cold weather. Sure, I whimper and whine when it first hits me but I have no problem running Rex around the block in 20 degrees (as long as I'm covered head-to-toe, face included). He suffers more than I do. This morning our walk went something like this: Me: Come on buddy, just jump over the snow bank. Rex: (pouty face) Me: It's not that bad, just suck. it. up. Rex: (sigh. pouty face. whimper) Passing neighbor: You know, his paws are probably freezing. Me: Um, I'm sure he's fine, thanks. (guilt sets in). Ok, Rex, back inside. Rex: (tail wag) I figure, as long as my wardrobe is temperature appropriate, I won't end up looking this pitiful.
Ok, ok, I meant adorable.
My other issue is the whole early rising thing. Up until now 8:30 a.m. was wicked early for me. (I'm not ashamed. I used to take full advantage of my 10 to 6 office hours by sleeping until 9:59 every now and then. Total guilty pleasure.) So, I told Dave the other night that in order to prepare for this impending 4:30 wake up call I would spend my last week off waking up at 5 a.m. He thinks I'm being ridiculous. "Why wouldn't you spend this last week sleeping as much as humanly possible? I mean, you'll be taking a nap at like noon," he said last night. Like most of our conversations, it continued this morning with my well-thought-out reply (I was up at 6 a.m. thinking about it): "Because, honey, it's like training for a marathon. I have to build up to what will eventually be a long, evenly paced run of early mornings."
He shook his head and walked away. Right now, I guarantee he's in the shower trying to come up with some clever retort.
While he's doing that, I'll be napping.