It's one of those typically atypical days in the Big D. 80 degrees for the high. In February no less. What kind of sense does that make? None. I don't care how or why. Whether it's the dry line, gulf stream, a really delayed Indian summer, or just that the weather gods heard my prayers, I'm going to enjoy it.
It's this kind of day that gives my seaonally affective disordered brain to make it through the winter. About February I start to give up hope. It will never be warm again. Spring has forgotten us. The sun has abandoned us. Waaahhhhhh!
But then - whammo! 80 degrees. My body just soaks up the warmth like a rechargeable battery. Awwww! Roll-over, more, more, more. I bust out the sandals. And my feet are sooooo happy to be free.
Back to 60 tomorrow. Sigh. But my batteries will be full and happy. And I'll be able to make it to spring.
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We got Chicago deep freeze these past few days but up to the 60s this weekend - whoo hoo! I note though that teenage girls were out wearing flip flops no matter the temps - go figure.
I'm guilty of wearing my sandals yesterday, even though it was 37 degrees when I left the house. There's just a certain amount of wishful thinking that I indulge in at this time of year.
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