Somehow I survived another brutal N.C. winter. I do believe we never received that magic one inch of fluff that actually counts as a snowfall. I think I can safely take the hunter orange down vest, fur bomber hat and scraper out of the car.
The position seen above immediately puts me to sleep. Like in the dentist's office when they crank me back and put that warm light on my face. I'm also totally relaxed because I have Bo guarding me while I sleep. One never knows when one of those pesky Mexican landscapers will feel the urge to spread more mulch around my condo.
I love the south and contrary to popular belief we don't talk like Hillary Clinton thinks we do. When I heard her talking southern on the radio I thought it was a parody. It sounded like Scarlet O'Hara with a deviated septum. Southerners may talk slow, but they sure can spot a phony.