"Springtime, the only pretty ring time, the birds sing a hey ding, a ding, ding... Sweet lovers love the spring."
Willy Wonka may have sung it, but Willy Shakespeare said it first.
Oh if only...
This morning I woke up to neither love or springtime, but I feel dangerously close to both. Well, maybe not quite the former, but spring is undoubtedly right around the corner. My first thought when I stepped off my front porch into a wind-whipping snow storm was, "Ha ha, Mother Nature. You think you are SO funny." I couldn't even enjoy my Oatmeal Squares out of a milk-heavy ziplock because I needed my hands to keep the slapping wind from blowing the hood off my head and bits of snow into my face. Hmph.
In the love category, we have a new candidate who will undoubtedly fade into the ever-burgeoning array of guys who don't quite make the cut for one reason or another. We didn't have a cinematic meet-cute: he's in my ward and I befriended his brother before I even knew he existed. But he's a down-to-earth cowboy, passionate about country dancing, pole-vaulting, and Patrick McManus (and it doesn't hurt that he's cut like a Bernini). But as it is with nearly every other guy in whom I develop interest, there's a slew of complications and the pragmatics just aren't quite there. However, there is something to be said for a guy who can get me to listen to country music and actually like it. Dang him, that little raspberry.
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