I've been reading For Whom The Bell Tolls by Papa Hemingway for the past three weeks. I'm at page 140. Normally, I can plow through a novel in a day or two. But this! This is inexquisite torture. Disliking this book makes me feel like I'm part of the illiterati, which is antithetical to my whole "Mysterious and Smart in 2004" plan. I jest. Mostly.
Yesterday, Adam and I decided to walk to Leo's Lunchroom for a snackaroo. "It's brisk," we thought. "It'll be good to walk." Wrong. By the time we walked to Wicker Park, our noses were magenta from the cold. But this is not the point of my story. The point is this: while walking on a side street, we came across two plump squirrels. They were chasing each other around the sidewalk, wiggling their tails and seemingly smiling with acorn-plump cheeks. It's still a few weeks to early for them to be mating, so they were simply flirting. It put a big smile on my face to think about that. Squirrels in love!
Yesterday, Adam and I decided to walk to Leo's Lunchroom for a snackaroo. "It's brisk," we thought. "It'll be good to walk." Wrong. By the time we walked to Wicker Park, our noses were magenta from the cold. But this is not the point of my story. The point is this: while walking on a side street, we came across two plump squirrels. They were chasing each other around the sidewalk, wiggling their tails and seemingly smiling with acorn-plump cheeks. It's still a few weeks to early for them to be mating, so they were simply flirting. It put a big smile on my face to think about that. Squirrels in love!
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