The cold and damp imbue every living thing. It makes Gus sulk. It makes people crabby and rude.
Or maybe it is just that I returned from a trip to Texas, where people call you ma'am (and not because they think you are old) and hold doors for you. Unlike the airport parking security asshole at PDX who threatened to write Cowboy a ticket because he left his car for 5 seconds to help open the door to the airport exit for me as I struggled with 2 suitcases, a carry-on and a big belly. Sigh. Because no one else offered to help hold the door.
For as much as I love where I live, the everyone-is-free-do-to-his-own-thing-and-I'm-content-to-be-in-my-own-world ethos is one thing that gets me down when it takes the form of aloofness.
I am just being old-fashioned that I think it is simply a nice gesture for men to hold doors for women? Or that it bothers me that our friends and neighbors let their kids call me by my first name. I do not like a five-year-old calling me Ms. Planner. I prefer Miss Ms. Planner or Mrs. Ms. Planner.
Poor Missy. She'll be the only freak in the neighborhood referring to grown-ups as Mr. & Mrs. and routinely using "Yes, ma'am" and "No, sir."
Now who's crabby? Hormonal, maybe?
In other news, you can tell how great snow season has been by how long it takes Cowboy to file our taxes. We still haven't done them yet.
Our snowpack is like 200% of normal. I didn't mind being the snow sacrifice this season. Really, I didn't.
I have ten weeks to go.
It was our third anniversary yesterday. Because the traditional gift for a third anniversary is leather, I hope Cowboy wasn't embarassed in front of the other restaurant patrons when he opened the leather riding crop I bought for him. Just kidding. I didn't buy such a thing.
But I thought about it.