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Here is something I find extremely ironic. I no longer have breasts, so why do I feel so modest when I am sitting topless (and I really mean it) in the sun in my own backyard (complete with 6-foot high privacy fence) and I hear a noise on the other side of the barrier? Without exception, my immediate reaction is to grab for something to cover myself as though I still have bodacious ta-tas someone might ogle.
Granted, I suppose there are people who would be startled, dismayed, disgusted or simply saddened if they were to view my now bodacious chest-wide scars, but that isnâ€™t what causes me to scamper for cover. Itâ€™s the primal instinct not to let someone see my naked breasts (although Iâ€™ll admit I was not above showing them to a select few gentlemen who seemed deeply appreciative back in the day) â€“ even when I donâ€™t have them.
It was this behavior (sitting in my backyard topless) that caused me to realize that, not only has Spring sprung in these parts, but Iâ€™m pretty sure, although I inhabit a place better known for balmy breezes than eight-foot snowdrifts, I definitely have a case of Spring Fever!
Perhaps I should have had a clue when I caught myself daydreaming about going blonde. Iâ€™ve finally gotten brave enough to let my hair grow out again, and have loudly and proudly announced repeatedly that I look best with dark brown hair. That is, until the sun starts kissing my brow. In that golden haze I somehow think turning into a tantalizing towhead makes sense. Trust me, it does not. Iâ€™m at an age where I have to be careful that my hair color and my face color donâ€™t meld, because when they do itâ€™s impossible to tell where I end and the universe begins. It is not a flattering look and could be perhaps called Toe Head at best!
Another clue may have emerged as I cast my eyes at the numerous empty gardening boxes that dot the landscape of my backyard. For some reason, my optimistic self always seems to think this will be the spring when I miraculously sprout something amazing â€“ a green thumb! If plants could sign petitions, pay for billboards or hold up placards, Iâ€™m pretty sure they would ask you to stop me before I kill again.
When Daylight Savings Time had the audacity to steal an hour of much needed sleep from me a few weeks ago, I mistakenly thought Iâ€™d found the solution. Iâ€™d just sleep until I felt like getting up. I love this approach. My employer does not. I literally live a hop, skip and a jump from my office, but without the required 7 or 8 hours of shuteye, itâ€™s more like a groan, whine and a crawl.
And speaking of all of those extra hours of light, when SF (thatâ€™s Spring Fever for those of you who have the time to write it out) hits, Iâ€™m always sure that right after dinner I will go for a jog. Youâ€™d think in all of these years, Iâ€™d know better. On any given evening Iâ€™m much more likely to dash for second helpings or cakewalk to the couch. Even my Fitbit thinks Iâ€™m a complete nitwit! Iâ€™m just hoping it canâ€™t remove steps for being such a slouch. Quite frankly, at some point (usually right before the Winter Equinox) I will actually garner the gumption to go for the jog and then realize itâ€™s once again pitch black outside. Darn, just my luck, because Iâ€™m sure I would have broken the one-minute mile record otherwise.
Another sure sign of Spring Fever is called Spring Housecleaning. Yes, yes, yes. Now is the time when you can throw open your windows to fully expose the army of dust bunnies and cobwebs lurking in those heretofore darkened foyers (I could have said hallways, but I like to use words I canâ€™t pronounce or understand because I have SF!)
Spring Housecleaning reminds me of the first day of school. The part I like(d) best involves shopping for all of the stuff I might need. “Might” need… if I was actually going to clean my house (or in the case of school, going to do my homework). When it comes to the reality of cleaning, itâ€™s not uncommon for me to feign a real fever and beg off. Here, feel my forehead â€¦
The part of Spring Fever I try desperately to carry with me throughout the year, regardless of the weather, is renewed hope, because that is what Spring really means to me. No matter how gray the skies, how rough the seas, how violent the wind, or even how dismal the forecast, hope truly does spring eternal.
Now, will someone please tell that to my plants?