The joys of fake spring. Random days, fragile as bubbles, that mysteriously surface in the dead of winter, bringing warm breezes and irrational exuberance. It's a temporary visit with temperatures that let you hang your coat from your arm and pretend real spring is just around the corner, which it is and isn't. For me, it triggers a madcap tear through my closet. Those two dear, steady friends, plaid and wool, begin to feel like the banes of existence, and I suddenly crave tropical color. It's a dangerous moment. I've bought more things that I regret in the month of February than I care to remember. I don't do well under the sway of effervescent optimism.
Still, the impulse is hard to control. It rises with the mercury. I'm going to have to be on my guard and try to steady my nerves with cotton sweaters.
