(You’re a blogger, Harry)
This time last week, I told you that I had a stuffed-up nose. What I didn’t realize was that it was a cold. In fact, the wife and I have been suffering through a cold for two weeks now. TWO WEEKS! This isn’t like the worst cold I ever had. No, it’s just a cold that won’t go away. I don’t get it. I’m the guy who washes his hands, and puts the mask on, keeps my distance, and all of the actions have rewarded me with the fact that I never got sick with Covid. Even when the pandemic was at its height in NYC – I was the guy in my family that went out and ran all the errands and dealt with people, yet I never got sick. And somehow, I get this little measly cold. Which I gave to my wife. And now we can’t kick it. I don’t get what’s going on.
There are a good number of reasons why I enjoying living in New York City. And there are almost as many reasons why I hate living in New York City. (It’s a weird balance that I find many New Yorkers living with.) But one of the major reasons why I like living here is that there are four clearly defined seasons that I get to experience over the course of a year. Fall is my favorite, followed by Spring. The one I hate the most is Summer, which keeps getting longer and more humid. And that leaves Winter, which I do enjoy, (There is always a moment in Winter when I can’t feel my face, which usually lets me know that I am ready for Spring to come around,) and that is due to snow. I grew up in Texas, so snow was rare, and also one of the most treasured of weather treats. The forbidden fruit for Southerners, so to speak. Anyway, there’s been no snow this year, and the way it’s looking, there might not be any snow. Which is such a weird feeling. I mean, thirty miles north of the City, there’s plenty of snow. But here, it feels like a wheel is missing on the car. It’s just not the same, and it makes me think it’s not running right.
Is there a BLT restaurant out there? If not, that’s my million-dollar idea.
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