My blanket is made of lead.
That's the only possible explanation for why I'm still in bed at noon.
When I tell Kellan as much he laughs, tells me to be ready in twenty minutes and hangs up.
Christmas. With Kellan.
Why had I ever thought this was a good idea? I'm beginning to think that he could convince me to golf in a lightning storm.
Kellan shows up on time, just for him to groan and wait, sorting through the channels on my TV. Twenty minutes to get ready? For him maybe but not me. Especially not hungover me. I take my time in the shower, lathering with the tiny bottles of shower gel and wrap myself in every towel within reach.
Clothing choices are limited, too cold for a dress, too cold for anything remotely cute. I squeeze myself into last night's jeans and pop a maroon sweater o
