Oh sweater weather. I love it dearly. It has, however, eluded the Gulf Coast, and we are "enjoying" a heat wave in December. Puke. How can one properly get into the Christmas spirit when it's 80 degrees outside?!
But seriously, I love sweaters. I love how they hide the mysterious bulges that are evidence of my love of all things carbohydrates and sugar. I love how if it is sweater weather, it is also pants weather (one would hope), which means I don't have to shave my legs for three months. Well, alright-- because I love my husband, I'll do it more frequently than that. But only for Hband.
But see, it's not sweater weather here. I still have to shave my legs every day because-- gag-- shorts are still climate appropriate here. In rebellion against the Florida weather, I've put all my shorts away in space-saving bags under my bed. In their place in my drawers are sweaters. Glorious sweaters that make me sweat like a Siberian Husky unless it is precisely 50 degrees or colder outside. Beautiful sweaters that, while masking mysterious fat bulges, still somehow make me look like a cardboard box wearing a sweater.
Maybe sweaters aren't so great after all.
Nah, I still love 'em. But I love sweater weather even more.