It's not officially spring yet...not in my book, anyway.
I dunno. Maybe I've just read too much
Kerouac, but it's not springtime for me until I see that first
blonde, driving down the road in her
convertible. Hair flowing, confident, but not conceited.
Relaxed.
It really
is a sign of spring, though, you know? I mean,
we're all human, and it's
human nature to try and exude
sex appeal -- some of us exuding what little we can -- and when you see the blonde drive down the road, you know the seasons have changed, with the most comfortable of us shedding our winter skins first.
Say what you want about these qualities yourself -
love them,
hate them - doing either at this moment implies that you're kind of missing the point here. Just think for a second about the
Platonic forces currently at play... the blonde, the car; the
beauty, the
raw power. Exposed to the chaotic but gradually improving elements -- what a better time than spring, to display such instinctual,
Dionysian qualities?
I saw a blonde today, driving a
Mustang... but it wasn't a convertible. It simply didn't elicit the same feelings, either.
I'm sure she'll be pulling out onto the road
any day now, though... maybe some of you have already seen her.