Ida Clare, It's a Cold Day in the Neighborhood

Mr. Rogers stole my sweater and I want it back.

I'm just kidding.  I don't mean to disparage poor departed Mr. Rogers. In fact this is one of my favorite quotes from him.

I can’t seem to get warm in this darn climate change.  Maybe I have become one of those delicate flowers who are always cold.

You know who I’m talking about.  Those skinny women who invariably wear sun-dresses or skimpy little shorts and tops when the weather man has been bleating out the news to anyone who doesn't own a pair of earplugs that Mother Nature is about to drag her cold front through town.  These women are the human version of a shivering Chihuahua whose eyes are about to bug out from being so cold because they forgot that underwear is a form of layering.

I don’t care if you wear less clothing. I would too if it were summer and my wading pool had a hole in it.  I just can no longer dress like that because what used to fill my tube top is just north of filling up a pair of tube socks.

But naturally, I have gotten completely off the subject, if I ever had one.  I am cold and despite the fact that I may have to sell my car to pay the propane bill, I have been trying  to use my heating pad to keep my feet warm at night.

Sounds toasty doesn't it?  Well the cat population in this house thinks so too.  It turns out the heating pad is the exact size of one grumpy old lady cat who has the middle age spread, bless her heart, and one young male kitten who, considering the positions and the stretches he performs, must have been a yoga instructor in a past life.

Now one would think that since I am the lady of the house and the human that procures the kitty food, my feet would have first dibs on avoiding frostbite, but one would be wrong.  If you know anything about cat entitlement, you know that cats have the best self-esteem and the determination of...well, a cat.

So I just hunt me a pair of tube socks and call it a night.

Hugs,