A wintery Tale and Michelle Obama's Clothes
All right, winter, we GET IT. All I can think about is contained in three words: I am cold. No, wait, here are a few more: it is cold here. That's four words! And: I wish I had an extra sweater right now. 9 words! These are really adding up. How about this one: Who said winter was a good idea when my feet have turned to blocks of ice and my blood is running so sluggishly I can barely type and my big fuzzy brown coat has been morphed (by me) into a blanket and is still ineffectual. OK, that is 45 words. I have had just about enough of January. Really, January. You made your point. "I can make you cold," you said, and it's not like any of us disagreed with you. But then you had to go and freeze everything just to prove that point. It I was January's mother, I would send it to its room. With no dessert. My skin is cracking from the cold. Every time I absentmindedly scratch my shin, my fingers come back all bloody. It is a good thing I am not in therapy. Why is my leg...