Otis and I took an early morning stroll. It was very sunny out, so I thought it would be quite pleasant. I step outside, close me eyes, and prepare to bask in the morning sunlight.
Then a giant gust of wind hit me. The cold breath of Satan.
I’m having a hard time coming up with a proper metaphor to describe the low temperature of this wind. Not quite as cold as the dead of space. Definitely several degrees below “witch’s titty.” I’m going to go with balls. It was definitely cold as balls.
But Otis and I soldiered on through the chilled breeze and walked about the yard. We stopped at this bench so Otis could do some deep corgi thinking. I’m not sure a corgi has ever thunk as deeply as Otis think’d this morn. My little airplane is growing up.
