Dear Mother Nature,
How you doin'?
You good? You seem tense. Pent up. Frustrated. Verklempt. Depressed.
Yeah. Remember a year and a half ago when I was trying to have my yardsale but you kept boo-hooing all over everyone? And we kept having to rework things and I had so much stuff piled up in my living room that I was one cat carcass away from my own episode of Hoarders? But we talked it out and we got you some anti-depressants and things were good?
Let's revisit that. Because my house has been on the market for just over a week now and temperatures have barely risen above freezing in that time. We've Polar Vortexed. We've exceeded snowfall averages. We've kept all the potential buyers hiding in their cozy apartments instead of checking out my awesome house.
Stop being such a twat.
It's time to pull up your big-girl underoos, put on some mascara and a pair of heels, get a fresh haircut, and stop the tantrum. It's hard to feel sorry for you when all you ever do is complain. Pull it together, and keep that groundhog on notice. Keep the sun in front of him at all times or you will basically be an accessory to murder when I hunt him down.
I hate to be so blunt about this, but I have no time for shenanigans, balderdash, or other such nonsense. I need to get my house sold and move on with my life. Let's do lunch this spring, maybe up at Devou or along the river somewhere. But until then, you've go to buck up.
Yours in Girl Power,