The last few days were the coldest this fall, here in the (brighter than tolerable) Sunshine State.
That means one thing: warm sweatpants.
Warm sweatpants means one thing: a pair I bought in college my freshman year. The beginning of my freshman year. Twenty-one years ago.
My wife warns me she’ll deny any relation to me if I go outside wearing them.
“Hey, isn’t that your…
My mother-in-law called me earlier. She told me it was 63 degrees in New Hampshire, but it was raining.
Everything before the comma was good natured taunting – it’s still seat sticking hot here. Vinyl seats are cruel and unusual punishment. I think the raining bit was supposed to cushion the blow, but I’m the odd Floridian who doesn’t like this much sun.
I would replace the…