Musings from Mama Bird
This morning, I had to dig out my sandals. Today, the high is supposed to reach 83 degrees. Holy global warming, Batman. Spring just sprang, and I wonder if the climate change that’s abuzz in the news will mean we experience a six-month summer. I’m comforted knowing that the record temperature for today was set in 1904 or something like that, so maybe this is a fluke. All I know is that it is far too early to turn on the A/C and far too soon to wear sandals. The temperature inside my house reached 81 degrees yesterday, and my feet feel naked. I never thought I’d say this, but bring on the ’50s.
This is the first day I haven’t worn gym shoes to work. I don’t own casual dress shoes that would complement today’s outfit of choice, worn because we have our annual Staff Appreciation Luncheon, hence the sandals. We’re so busy in our office that none of us can spare the two-hour celebration, but at least I didn’t have to figure out what to pack for lunch.
I had an extra ten minutes this morning because of said luncheon, so I decided to peruse some blogs. The “family” category is usually my first choice since a lot of my posts are categorized as such, but the blog I read was anything but family-friendly. Titled something like, I confess: I’m a killer, this woman goes on about how she ran over her neighbor’s beagle-mix who has been terrorizing her daughter and her pets. The dog was in her driveway, so instead of stopping, she continued in reverse until she hit the dog. On purpose. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not a proponent of people being allowed to harbor vicious animals, but I’m super disturbed by this. Animal control? Leash laws, maybe? Instead of commenting, I also backed out…of her blog, that is.
I thought I had all this extra time to read blogs, but I ended up forgetting to grind the coffee for the three-cup Mr. Coffee that sets on the floor in my office, so I stopped by the Starbucks in the Student Union where I work. The doors were open, so I went in and grabbed the usual, “largest bold coffee you’ve got, room for cream. Please.” The woman at the counter greeted me merrily, and I asked her what time they open. “Ten till seven.” Since I get to work at ten till seven also, I felt a bond with her but not so much the grumpy guy with a pony tail preparing the condiment table for the morning rush. He must not be a morning person. I’m glad his co-worker and I are, though.
So how are things in your neck of the woods?
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