When the weatherman predicted a few days of divine spring weather last week, I got pretty excited.
Not about walking in sunshine and warmth after six months of cold and snow.
Not about watching my garden grown.
Not about a reduction in heating costs.
I was excited about hanging clothes on the line again. Don’t ask why it’s such a thrill and don’t make any snide comments about how boring my life must be if hanging socks, underwear and sheets on the line has me all atwitter.
Hiram was also excited about the prospect of sun dried clothes. He came out and helped put things on the line. He even contributed a package of plastic clothespins he had in his handyman stash. While we emptied the baskets of wet clothes, we gloated at the prospect of crawling between fresh-scented sheets at bedtime.
Which one of the following explains our over-the-top response?
A. An extremely long, hard winter.
B. We’re on the brink of geezerhood.
C. We’ve learned to appreciate the small things in life.
D. All of the above.
If you answered C, you win the prize.
What’s the prize?
On the next lovely spring day, you can hang your clothes on my clothesline. I’ll even make sure the unmentionables are pegged to the inside lines. No one will ever know the color of your underwear.
