The frost is thick. I have to run.
I sift through my gear and wish for sun.
My expensive tights are pushed near the back.
My favorite tights lie in the laundry sack.
A furrowed scowl and f-bombs flow.
Please tell me it’s not f’ing so!
“But your name brand tights? Aren’t they the best?!”
My husband snickers in delighted jest.
He knows the truth, why these remain.
These over-priced tights, they’re my winter’s bane.
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