Can I complain to you about the weather for a moment?

Or even complain at all? I went to get my nails done yesterday and realized that I had only been there two weeks ago. And why did I book that appointment on a Thursday instead of the usual Friday? Break and a tremendous aha experience. That was true. I was supposed to fly to Italy the next day (here…) Would, yes. Like everything in the past year changed from ‘I will’ to ‘I would’.

And just like with all grammatical adjustments, I had straightened my shoulders again this time and had gone looking for the silver lining (every cloud has a silver lining, don't forget that) and had tried to find the advantages.

So that I had already collected the most beautiful summer dresses for bella Italia for three months, oh well. Their time would surely come. And that I had been living alcohol-free and ridiculously fit for eight weeks (I can actually see the outlines of a six-pack, it can't get any crazier), something they call in The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills the HWB diet (hard work, bitch), that didn't matter either. Being fit is good anyway, with the saved vacation money I could shop for something nice again and vacation in my own country is also lovely. We would cycle, paddle through the Haarlem waters, I can use a scooter for a few days so guys: party.

But then I looked at the weather app. Today is still okay. 13 degrees, sunny, a little cloud. I'm not the hardest to please, that's what I'm doing it for. But then. Sunday. A five, Monday a four, Tuesday a two. A TWO. How low can it go?

I'm going to dig deep again for something that pushes me upright again. I guess I'll turn on the fireplace and play Michael Bublé's Christmas.

And the weather? That needs extra lessons. A two, guys, that can't be right?