It’s January down south.
Even down here January is cold. Supposed to be, anyway. January is in fact our coldest month, historically.
This morning, I can’t even find the cool side of my pillow.
In a one week period, we’ve gone from freezing temperatures to planning our gardens. That's planning, not planting. It is warm, but we're not there yet.
Even if it doesn't last, welcome to our January summer.
While I’ve enjoyed playing golf in shorts for the last 3 days, I want the other January. The cold one. At least, the cold mornings.
I want the January where you wake up in the morning, slip into somebody’s hip pocket and go back to sleep. (That’s not dirty, y’all. It’s my own terminology for ‘spooning.’)
This time of year, if there’s another person in my bed, let’s get personal. If there’s a dog beside me, come a little closer. If there’s a cat on my feet, I’m surely blessed.
It’s January, it’s cold. Let’s be friends.
But it’s not cold. And a boy in his undies has just kicked off the covers.
Hey… maybe he has a motive. Maybe if he can create a cool enough climate, maybe he can slip into someone’s hip pocket. It is January, after all.
Let’s test the waters. Let’s have him throw an arm over that lumpy thing beside him and see if there’s any reaction.
There’s a reaction, all right. In a king-sized bed, someone who is already three feet away can make it four with a simple roll-over. Lumpy thing has just indicated she will be driving in her own lane – alone.
So, thanks, January. Men of a certain age have enough trouble generating interest in snuggling to begin with. The least you could do is let it be cold enough that her very survival depends on her dancing cheek-to-cheek with me.
Not happening. She just got up to turn on the ceiling fan.
Good. I’m hot, too.