As I was slipping along on our road yesterday in route to the highway, the thought occurred to me...I've been badly mistaken now for a number of years. Time to come clean and publicly make my confession.
I owe the month of February an apology.
For years, I have told anyone within ear-shot that my least favorite month of the year is February. It seems if anything goes wrong, awry, or just plain wonky, it's in February.
I'm wrong...it's January that is to blame. It's been sitting there, quietly and smugly, allowing its neighbor on the calendar to take the hit of my frustrations.
Yes, January, you are the culprit here. High with good spirits left over from the holidays, I tend to drift right along--at least through the first half of January--with my good will toward men, things, and everything else. And then, after one too many icy or snowy days, my mood of good will starts to crumble a bit. Constantly changing schedules due to weather, precautions left and right for fear of frozen pipes or drains (and so many in the house--where did these all come from?), dressing in layer after layer of clothing in order to fortify oneself for the dreaded outdoors--this is what life becomes in January. Even though each day gains us a bit more daylight, the days are rare that afford us the chance to actually be outside and enjoy it.
So, by February, I'm just pretty much tired of the whole "winter wonderland" deal. And then I start disliking February. The whole, short little month. I've bad-mouthed this little month for years.
Time for me to come clean and make my formal apology...so, February, I apologize. This year I will put blame where it goes--on this bitterly cold month of January.
Just one thing, February...I'll be on guard...you can be back on the bad list quickly if you dump that white stuff and ice on us a little too much.
