I’m a sucker for alliteration. I digress..
We get a finite amount of perfect days in Florida spring. Fewer than the fistful of peanuts in a Snickers bar. In what will seem like 20 minutes, it will be Afghanistan hot and cream of chicken soup humid. So what’s to do about wanting to do nothing? That’s what I plan to do today, and I’m not even going to start that until later.
The problem is guilt. These splendid days are to be savored. Beach, biking, weed-pulling or something outside. I don’t wanna. There’s a magnet under the bed yanking at my underwire, and a sh*t ton of great stuff on Netflix, not to mention my 97 percent full DVR. The chlorine in the pool will bleach my fake tan off, and I’ll be back to melanin-challenged white and out 20 bucks.
Do me a large and do nothing with me. This trying to relax thing is giving me an anxiety attack, and the weather is giving me the finger.