It was always the hardest month to spell. But then, I always (and still do) have a problem spelling girl.
And it's cold. Damn cold. Especially here in central Pennsylvania. Some folks think that spring is coming when February rolls around. We know better in these parts. It's a good month for snow. And ice. And, I'm just guessing here, domestic violence.
Every February I start to hate the dog. HATE. And speaking of dogs, I really HATE those forever piles of yellow and black snow.
The sun doesn't shine here in February.
Roadkill sticks on the pavement longer in February than any other month.
I know February is supposed to be full of romance because of Valentine's day. Bullshit. Nothing is romantic about someone trying to stick their cold hands down my sweater on the 14th just because they think that is the day to do it. Try it again in May, dude.
And, yes, my daughter's birthday is in February. She is thrilled. She loves the planning. What should the theme be? What games should we play at the party? Party favors? Will there be a party activity? Are we going to make the invitations? ic9w9 dieub8esn 988shtww. That's just me beating my head on the keyboard. I love my little bug, but I start to have panic attacks two weeks before the birthday party.
And this is the month that I am forced to look at catalogs of swimsuits and summer clothes. If I don't order all of our spring/summer clothes NOW, the catalog companies will sell out and that will be it. Unless one of us is a 2T or XXXXXL.
Tomorrow morning, over breakfast, I will make my February 1st speech and it goes like this:
Do not touch me with anything cold this month. Don't make any plans that make me leave the house. Somebody better shovel that damn sidewalk. Do not leave any belongings unattended-- they will be thrown away. February is go to bed early month -- get used to it. Somebody needs to buy me books.