And so we grilled.

And by we, I mean Mr. Price. 

I don't grill.  I'm not too girly for anything, but grillin' just isn't my thing.  I worked food service on my university campus (as internationals are often forced to do, seeing as that is really the only option of on campus employment) and came home smelling like a grill 4 days a week.  I ruined at least 3 pairs of jeans working there because of the smell, I mean STENCH, and my hair took years to get rid of the grease that lined its roots.  So, with hands in the air, I gladly hand over all grilling rights to Mr. Price.

I like smelling the grill, I just don't like smelling OF IT.

Plus, there is a certain invisible injection of testosterone that I can see my other half getting as he lights the charcoal, stands over it carefully and monitors it's heat.  As if it were a newborn baby, he stares into it's hot embers as the orange swells from beneath the black and he waits, for the right amount of smoke and heat, just like you delight in the smallest of small smiles from the one who can barely lift their head.  There's also a certain air of manly manhood that encircles the black weber.  Now, a co-worker of mine insists his wife is the grilling master and he would dare not ever step on her turf, but ladies, that's a once in a million gal, for her love of the grill, is the love only an XY chromosome would understand.  I sure freaking don't.

I think of the grill and instantly salivate with the thought of tender, garlic and butter drizzled over a thick juicy piece of good old fashioned red meat.  I am instantly, as if grabbed by the thrust of a worm hole, transported back to a time where I can see Mr. Price and three friends' husbands circled around the grill, sharing nothing but "work sucks" and "thank God for beer" conversations as they cradle their condensation soaked beer bottles in the rattiest yet most favorite beer coozies.

I love the grill.  It reminds me of summer.

And thus, therefore, why we grilled yesterday when for three months it had barely peaked above an average of 31 degrees, at the gorgeous, sun lit, moderately cloudy filled sky my first and only instinct was to buy overly expensive and out of season hamburger ingredients to grill and enjoy, nay, REVEL in the precious warmth of a Mid February warm up in the distant hope that spring were to appear in February this year and not March because, unlike most other years here in Central KY, this winter had been particularly cruel and sunless.

So, come forth you horrible tease, as I look into the remainder of this week and see a forecast that peaks in the high 60s, bring me a weekend that is encased in snow and ice and temperatures below freezing, because I KNOW it is still February and meterological Winter, but the sun and the grill have given me hope, a hope that you cannot quash Mr Jack Frost, may you try, but I shall stand firm in my long pants and short sleeve shirt (with a jumper on still, of course) on my side porch, grill at the ready, husband queued for the match of the season with lighter fluid in the left hand and charcoal in the right.

My porch is swept, my summer lights plugged in.  Bring your worst, Winter, for when you do, I know it will be short lived and your one last attempt at bringing the drudgery and doldrums of winter back to my heart are gone.  Gone, until we meet again, sir.

And so we grilled.  And we will grill again.  With wine glass (filled with koolaid) in one arm and my middle finger extended high into the air..."Screw you Winter!"  "The grill is the first sign of your demise, and this year, you will face your end, early."