High on the list of things that make my nose wrinkle up in disgust – right in-between stubbing my pinky toe and stepping in old chewing gum – is the ‘Wintery Mix’ weather pattern. This misleadingly benign term is affectionately used by weathermen to describe that terrible trifecta of sleet, slush, and bordering on below temperatures – and it is vile. The dog looks at me like I am Satan incarnate when I drag her out for her morning walk, the grayish-black sludge splashes up to stain everything and finding a cab is about as likely snagging the last pair of Miu Miu platforms on clearance at Saks.
Adding insult to injury, the Victoria’s Secret bathing suit catalogue arrived in my mailbox yesterday. You know the one – it always arrives right on time, on the coldest day of the year, and is bursting with gorgeous bronzed beauties gallivanting in itsy-bitsy bikinis on the beaches of faraway lands. It’s pure torture – this time of year I can’t even think about bathing suits or beaches – or even the notion that eventually the average daily temperature WILL be a number higher than 30.
