It was St. Patrick's Day.
I just HAD to drive my new Vespa to work. I got up at 5 a.m. and kept reminding myself that it would all be worth it at 3 p.m. when it was sunny and 60 degrees outside.
I put on my leather jacket, winter boots, leather gloves, helmet and pretty green scarf, then hit the road.
And then the cold hit me. It was so cold my goggles fogged up. I had to wait for a train. It was 6:45. I tried to stop at every stoplight down Wisconsin Avenue just to warm up. Of course they were all GREEN, in honor of the day I suppose.
I got to work at 7:15; it took a lot longer than I anticipated. My fingers felt like someone had taken a hammer to them. My eyes had teared the whole way downtown and washed away my mascara. I don't need to describe what my hair looked like when I took off my helmet! It was frightful.
I rolled into the office 10 minutes before my conference call, snagged a cup of coffee, and wished I was having Irish coffee. And then I remembered why I did this: St. Patrick's Day! I would be having a completely different ride on the way home... and I did... all the way to Leff's Lucky Town with my girlfriend.
And the sunshine and beer melted away all my anxiety.