Part of my morning ritual is putting the dog out for her morning constitutional(s). There are times, trust me, when I suspect she's only dancing at the back door to go out and bark like an idiot at the insane squirrel posse that likes to taunt her from the telephone wires. But that's sort of playing roulette with the carpet, so I usually give in and let her out.

This morning, I opened the back door and was hit with not only a blast of arctic air, but snow flakes! Freakin' snow flakes! This isn't right people. I mean, I know I live in Canada where it's supposed to be this wall of snow and ice at the Windsor/Detroit border, but that's just a joke. (Or a sad commentary on those Americans who choose not to give a rat's ass about learning anything about us, short of memorizing the words to Blame Canada).

I had to dig my winter coat out of storage, and was horrified when I saw the state of the leather. It needs a drink of that wonderful spray I buy at Danier that gets me all high and makes my coat audibly say, "Ahhhhhh". At the last second, I snagged my scarf and gloves too. Better safe than frozen. Then I had to rethink what I had been planning to wear. Skimpy black summery dress pants, a silk thong and a light sweater simply wouldn't fly today, my friends. I opted instead for an Eddie Bauer polo, jeans, N!ke socks and my thick Columbia hiking shoes. As I put on my jeans, I noticed that Lisa at work was not too far wrong when she commented last week, "Nice pants, Baggy Ass Girl". Charming, non?

With only minutes to go before I was officially late, I ventured downstairs to the pile of laundry beside the dryer. This pile contains clothes that are a) too big, b)too small or c) I probably shouldn't be seen wearing in public. My packrat tendencies won't allow me to get rid of anything unless it's moth-eaten, horribly misshapen or covered in bleach speckles. Today I was looking for a pair of jeans. My old size 12 Eddie Bauer jeans.

Almost trembling with anticipation, I drew them up my calves, over my knees, around my thighs. It's usually at this point when they won't go any further and I wind up eating a box of chocolate chip cookies or a loaf of toasted bread. This time, gloriously, they slipped gently over my hips and sat, waiting to be buttoned.

Today, life is good.