Damned Humid.

It's all warm and busted out there and big rain's coming overnight to the tune of an inch or more, say the NOAA fancies, and everything's wet, everything, even the inside of my skull, because we don't see humidity like this all the time, and when we do, we apparently like to make something of a show out of it, and all the books are swelling, and even the cookies on the buffet at the terrible, terrible thing to which I was somehow committed at midday got sort of staled and sogged such that even though I was hating my commitment to the thing, I was enjoying the fact that the cookies were registering complaint, too, and all I know is that it's a damn good thing it's supposed to go back to forties and twenties by Thursday night or Friday, because if something like this held on much longer, well, the cherry trees would start blooming or something. Daffodils. Crocus, for sure. But we'll freeze those bastards right back down. Wait your turn.

They're playing Silver Bells in the Harris Teeter. Often enough at this time of year I like that fine, but last night while I was trying to buy a box of rice all I really wanted to hear was Simply Red or whatever the hell other shite they generally play while persons are attempting to buy grains.

If it's not raining where you are, then walk the dog right now. Last chance for a while, unless you're a better dog dad than I am.