Dear Mother Nature: Bitch, Why So Fickle?

Last night’s snowstorm left us with a good five inches of heavy, wet snow. The trees outside my window are so laden down; the branches look as though they could snap at any minute. The roads are an icy mess and, if the temperature soars back into the 60’s this weekend, as predicted; mud season is just around the corner.

Yep. It’s officially springtime in the Rockies.

Spring generally sees me attending and participating in my women’s club’s annual luncheon however, this year, wrestling duties preclude me from doing so. I’m a little disappointed but, at least I won’t get roped into trolling the runway in a wedding dress pretending to be the oldest spinster ever.

Actually, I think Hugh is more disappointed about missing the luncheon than I am; he thrives on the ass-pinching attentions of The Ladies Who Lunch. I may have to make it up to him, somehow. Perhaps I’ll take him to the nursing home and let the women in residence dote on him or something.

Speaking of nursing homes; the combination of a good workout, the damp weather and my own general decrepitness has left me sore and aching in my joints. I feel like I imagine an 80 year old woman might feel on a bad day. This, it should be noted, does not bode well for my future.

On the other hand, I am 14 days into the No Diet Pepsi, No Chocolate commitment and, truthfully, I am doing fine. Maybe there is hope for me, yet.