This is not just any frost, this is hoar frost, and as much as I seriously want to write it “mistakenly” as being of the whore type, that would just be juvenile. I can already hear Caroline saying, “You idiot, you might as well have just written whore frost because anyone who knows you knows that’s exactly what you wanted to do, Mr. Grandpa Wise humorist.” Well, I can’t agree with this idea that I deserve her derision no matter how she wants to pigeonhole me into categories that could never pertain to me because I’m certainly beyond reproach.

But I’m going off course here as this isn’t about dumb humor (I mean genius) it’s about me taking note of the fact that on February 24th, we experienced such cold that I was able to break out my shell, scarf, and gloves one more time before I have to return to my morning walks wearing a banana hammock in the excruciating heat we must endure in this desert hell we call home. Yeah, I know, this was the perfect setup for talking about how hell has frozen over. I’m telling you, I’m full of these great one-liners, ain’t I, wife?