Dear Frosty

Dear Frosty,

You know I love you. But come on already. All winter, you're either half in or half out the door, and frankly your half-ass is not welcome anymore. This winter at least.

Sure, you have called plenty of times - a lot of times actually. Even when you weren't expected, you sneaky devil you. But you never really came now did you? With the exception of one or two "small deliveries", you usually just blew in and blew out leaving nothing but ice, rain, icy rain, sniffles and general malaise.

And I actually really, really like you. Each and every time, I have anxiously awaited you. I even went out this year and bought snow-appropriate trend-wagon Uggs in anticipation of burying my luxury-wrapped sausages deep within your fluffy, powdered purity. Instead all I got were puddles and my Uggs are like, "fashion victim." It's like driving an SUV in the city. Utilitarian? I think not. Aesthetics.

Now you are saying you may come - maybe Friday - maybe Saturday - you know, whenever you feel like it. Don't bother. I think we need some time apart. For personal growth. And I am going to personally grow right into the spring collection at Anthropologie. And flip flops.

So take your old silk hat, corn-cobbed pipe, button nose, and jolly happy ass home. That's right. Thumpety-thump-thump look at Frosty go. Cuz we all know you will be back again someday.

Love, Me