A freeze is coming. I can tell. When my left knee is dialing the chemist's for prescription refill all on its own, it's time to break out the long underwear.
Not for me, of course. I have my own personal summer to keep me warm. For my partner, the one with three percent body fat. Eventually, I know she'll be tired of sleeping in hat and mittens.
A little hot tea, a little cuddle with the human furnace, and all is well again.
"Jennie? are you almost ready? We really should have left ten minutes ago. And it's your family after all..."
No answer, but I can hear the hangers sliding back and forth in the closet. Best not to interrupt, even though I know I'm the one who will get the over-the-spectacles glances from her father for making us late.
Outside the gray sky is low enough to touch. I hear a drip-drop-drip every few minutes as the last of this morning's rain finds its zig-zag way to the downspouts. Night rain is better. That sound is so soothing for falling asleep. Better than Ambien.
"Jennie! Any time soon?" I venture again.
Silence for a moment, I know she is rolling her eyes at me, then, "You're not hel-ping..." she sing-songs, "and relax, we won't be late, I promise. Don't we always make it on time?"
She's right, of course, but I'm driving.