OK, I give up.
39 degrees!
Really?
That's what my car told me it was out when I slid behind the wheel this a.m. I could have swore that was a fine layer of frost on my windshield.
I long ago swore off putting on a winter coat until Thanksgiving, so I was shivering until the heated seats kicked in.
Some people love the weather in this region. They tell me how much they enjoy the arrival of each season.
You can have it.
Give me 90 degrees and 90 percent humidity.
The hotter, the thicker it is the better.
There is no better feeling in this world than walking toward the first tee at 6 a.m. on one of those muggy, thick, humid mornings, with nothing but an open course and the morning dew in front of you.
Of course, it would help if I actually had the chance to play golf.
I have yet to break out the sticks.
Part of that is medical, I've been having some issues and a recent surgery that have cut into my usual spring activities, including just about anything around the house.
So I'm pretty far behind on the "honey-do" list.
But 39 degree temps are not helping things any.
Spring remains a rumor.
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