Squísh as a grumpy strawberry.

Enriqueface has been persuading me to let him wear shorts over the past two days.

He calls them short pants, in hopes the word pants on the end 

will tip the scales in his general direction.

It's not working. 

Yesterday morning, after a round of serious debate, 

he stood there in just his legs and 'derwears

and sincerely asked "when will it be warm again?"

I forget that all he's really known is Southern weather.

I told him it'd be a while.

 But now I'm composing a list of things to do this winter.

They'll be fun, and they'll require either pants

or pink suits.