Gray are the skies over “Balmer” this day. Luckily, the clouds are finally yielding what Marylanders refer to as “snow”. Most Pennsylvanians call it a “light flurry”, while my boyfriend from Erie, PA calls it “Spring”. I do not mind cold temperatures as long as snow is produced, because I like snow. In stark contrast to my friend Cara, I detest climes less than 40 degrees. After work, I went to the grocery store and found that my gloves were not in my coat pocket, my backup gloves were not in the glove compartment, and my earmuffs were not in my purse. My backup hat, thankfully, was in place in the inner pocket. And I still had my hand warmers in the back for emergencies. Did I mention that I hate being cold??
Gray are my clothes today, for I woke this morning with a desire to wear a shirt that only matches one pair of pants. The clasp on these gray tweed pants broke about 10 months ago (give or take a month). The mission: to finally repair the clasp. It seems that I always have a pair of pants in the repair pile. This is why the expensive Talbots or Coldwater Creek pants are worth the extra buck(s). They don’t need ironing, and they don’t need mending. But sadly, a girl cannot resist 50% off sales at NY and Company. So, despite this small triumph in home economics (not my forte), I have two other pairs of pants needing mending. I am sure I will get to this by 2015. Maybe.
Gray is a hair on my head. Yes, I believe this one is official. The lighting in the office bathroom is such that I have been tricked into double-takes in the mirror, only to be relieved that the silver hair I thought I saw was just a shimmer. Yesterday, I realized the difference between a shimmer and an actual, real-life, gray hair. Home inspection under different lighting conditions confirms my assessment. I blame the architect who drove me to a near break down earlier in the week. Jerk-wad.
Gray was my face after I found some ranch dressing in the fridge, marked with the name of a co-worker who quit in September. I checked the date, saw it was February, and smothered it on my turkey sandwich for lunch. It tasted and smelled fine, but closer inspection of the label proved it was Feb 2008. Oops. Wasn’t that almost a year ago? I think my symptoms are psychosomatic, but I decided to leave work early anyway. You know, just in case.