Monday, December 28, 2015


Several people have pointed out that the East-Coast is presently warmer than the Bay Area. Connecticut and New York are positively balmy! Virginia and the Carolinas? Shirtsleeves!
And Florida, good heavens!

Well lah dee dah.

We are San Francisco. We don't care.
Our weather is exactly as it should be.

It's an ice-cube out there. Perfect, if one has the option of snuggling underneath a warm blanky with another person, who may or may not have brought a book with her, and who occasionally asks for another cup of tea or hot cocoa. And a sweet biscuit. Which, as you know by now, is not feasible today, what with work and all.

It would hypothetically be feasible tomorrow, though not at all likely. Reason being that none of the various "hers" I know are aware of how delightful and comforting it is to be right next to me and my delicious aroma of coffee and pipe-tobacco, fully clothed, with a novel by Georges Simenon, and several stuffed animals.

It's not on a billboard somewhere.

And I have never told them.

The fault is mine.


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