Is it spring becoming summer, or autumn becoming winter?

Frankie stood behind me as I feverishly typed away.  "Brrrr," she announced.

I turned and gave her a quizzical look.  She had her arms crossed, and she was clutching her hands tightly together while she stamped her feet up and down.  She was dressed in shorts and t-shirt.  Just last week she would have been appropriately dressed, today however, not so much.  "Brrrrrr." She repeated.

Somehow I could not feel sorry for her.  After all, I had put my winter attire back on earlier in the day, realizing I was going to have to return my shorts and t-shirts to the bottom drawer of my chest of drawers.

I return to my keyboard and begin typing.

"Brrrr."

Me: (Not even looking up.)  "Why don't you fix yourself a nice hot cup of coffee."
Frankie:  "Ya know what would taste good?  Soup, a slow cooker, chucked full of hardy vegetables and meat kind of soup. Yep, that would do the trick."
Me:  (still typing.)"You know where the kitchen is."
Frankie:  "That's hard."

She said that in a childlike voice, as though I've told her to give up something fun and preform a difficult task.

Me:  "I repeat, you could always make yourself a hot cup of something...coffee, tea, beef or chicken bullion."
Frankie:  (Snorting and stamping her foot)  "Dag nab it!  I'm cold."

She is exaggerating shivering, and squeezing herself so tightly she face is turning red.  By now I've lost patience and whirl around in my chair and glare at her.

Me:  "Here's the thing." (Doing my best at being the grown-up.)  You've got choices here.  One, get out of those shorts and t-shirt and get into some warmer clothes.  Two, go turn on the heat for a while to take the chill off.  Three, go make some soup, or at the very least a hot cup-a-cup a."

Frankie looks like a whipped puppy, you know, like those pictures of big, sad eyed kitties and puppies. You'd swear I'd whooped her with my wooden spoon.  I come to realize she is NOT going to go away, she's NOT going to do anything to correct her problem and now I feel chilly and with the need for something hot myself. In addition, I think I'm going to have to turn on the heat for a while.  Sometimes an imaginary friend can be a real pain in the tuckus.

Oh, man.  I simply can't stand that forlorn look any longer.  It's pitiful, nobody can do pitiful better than Frankie (except maybe Zorro).

Me:  "Okay, I give...I'm going to fix myself a cup of coffee, you want one?"  Of course she does, why did I even ask.

I guess as long as I'm going to the kitchen I might as well see what I can throw together to make a soup, or maybe a Chile, slumgullion, or maybe even spaghetti.  I suppose it wouldn't hurt if I turned on the heat for a bit either.

Come to think of it, as long as I'm getting up, I believe my tootsies could use an extra pair of socks, too.