Pinky swear

I figured it out, I think. I figured out why I am so antsy all the time and not just every damn Friday night, which you must honestly be getting heartily sick of reading about and who can blame you, I certainly don’t… and this is it, my theory is this:

It is secretly spring.

I know that we just got dumped with six inches of snow and freezing gale force winds, and that my windshield wipers iced over THREE TIMES on my way home from work yesterday so that my three-yard visibility was reduced to three inches, the three inches separating my nose from the windshield, and that every day I wish I had started this damn scarf about a month sooner so that my reportedly perfect set of breasts would be somewhat protected from the drifting snow…

But it just occured to me that I am gazing out across the lake and it is after five in the evening and I can gaze out across the lake. It is still light out! Or… twilight! Or not quite pitch nightness!

What I am getting at is that it is staying light later and this means it is spring, or will be someday, and I can be excused for being a little excitable and fizzy and maybe the slightest bit randy.

My best friend claims that I can just blame it on being in my early thirties, which is apparently some sort of documented sexual prime for women, but you wouldn’t know it around here, so far here it is only some sort of peak of longing for action. Of any kind — a good ball game, say. I MEAN BASEBALL. God. Dirty mind.

Speaking of ball games, how much does Syracuse suck at men’s basketball this year? Why, an awful heck of a heaping lot! Getting smashed by DeVry or whoever they played last night was not in the Best Practices Plan for getting into the NCAA Tournament.

Unless you count the NIT tournament, which I don’t, because it clearly stands for the Not In Tournament. Tournament. Yeah. Acronyms are stupid.

So I’m happy that it is baseball season somewhere at least, because that means it will be for real baseball season soon, which supports my theory that it is secretly spring.

It is such a secret that we cannot talk about it any more, so please don’t bring it up. But as a sign and a symbol to each other that we secretly know that it is secretly spring I have decided that we should all wear stripey underpants.

No backtalk!

If you don’t have any stripey underpants then first of all shame on you, and second of all they have some nice ones at Victoria’s Secret right now. They probably have some stripey ones in the dollar bin at Marshalls right now, too, but I honestly don’t know how you can wear those without thinking these panties cost a buck all day.

…and you really have to be careful what you have going through your head all day, because sometimes you might inadvertently blurt it out. Not that I have ever done that. Although I have come close a couple of times.

Your stripey underpants will serve as a reminder to yourself and to me that it is secretly spring, and that soon it will be time to watch baseball and listen to Michael Kay, voice of the Yankees, and my secret boyfriend.

How will I know that you are wearing your stripey underpants? I will not tell you that. For that is a secret also.

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