I got a new cell phone yesterday after that foul mouthed Motorola finally uttered its last racist breath.  I hated that phone anyway, and I am looking forward to the T9 offerings on my new cherry red Samsung. The guy who sold me the phone started up a conversation with me in typical midwestern fashion, even though he revealed moments into it that he is actually a southerner recently transplanted but four months ago.

“Oh! So you haven’t been here for winter yet!” I exclaimed with a deviousness reserved for those who know the horrors of the biting wind and the swirling snow and the mercury that hovers around the zero mark for a big chunk of the calendar.  Truth be told, I am a little nervous about it myself.  I haven’t been here for a winter since 1997.  I toy with the idea of getting a bike that will be more of a tank, or maybe more of a snowplow.  But am I really going to ride a bicycle all winter?  Am I that tough?  I used to be, back in the days when my brother and I shared a paper route and I faithfully tossed out the Daily Journal as I pedaled my Huffy around the Timber Ridge subdivision.  I don’t think I am now, though. Thank the lord that my current occupation finds me tossing out invoices rather than soft hitting local newspapers.

As for now, it’s sunny and seventies outside and my mother is coming to take me shopping today for birthday gifts.  Monday is my birthday, and I don’t think I could possibly be any less affected by it.