COLD, SCHMOLD, AND BUBBLY SIPPING

Cold, schmold.  Bah.  Humbug.

My plan to stay inside all day is interrupted by my son's car that won't start.  AAA jump-starts it, but it needs service, so I warm up my own car, follow him to the dealer, then drop him off at work. 

Meanwhile, my tire pressure is low partially from the sub-zero wind chill and partially because my car sucks and the tire pressure is always being a dick.  So, I brave the cold to put air into each tire, exposing my face and hands to the raw air.  By the time I get home, my face looks like I painted it with rouge.

After getting some of the work done that I have earmarked for today, I go back to get my kid from work, drive him back to the dealer, then race home again.  I need to stuff down a quick dinner of leftovers (I couldn't cook dinner because of the shuttling), though, because appartently I have one final errand to run today.

There's a wine tasting this evening.  Not just any wine, though -- a bubbly tasting.  No way am I missing a bubbly tasting.  Even though I could walk to the wine shop as it is only a quarter of a mile away, I do know my limits.  I may have driven all over the planet today (after swearing that I would just sit home and get some work done), but I know not to try and walk a half-mile round-trip in 6 degree weather with sub-zero wind chills.

I am now the proud owner of a bottle of cava, the exact same cava that is served at the Spanish royal family's functions.  I wouldn't have the cava if I had not ventured out, and I would not have ventured out had I not had to rescue my son today.

I also would not have learned that the cold really isn't as horrible as it could be.  It's not -83 degrees with wind chill, like it is on Mount Washington, and it's not even officially snot-freezing weather yet.... YET ... I'm not completely insane.

Cold, schmold.   It's nothing but a bubbly humbug.