Folks, I don't know what I was thinking. I shouldn't have grabbed her ass like that. Clearly I exercised extremely bad judgement. I could have sworn she was flirting with me.

Last week it was unseasonably warm. Really unseasonably warm. It was 18 degrees centigrade. In January. In Canada. For most, that's pretty inconceivable. I, however, live along the eastern slops of the Rocky Mountains. While the rest of you jokers suffer and toil through six months of unbearably frozen arctic winters, I'm treated to regular respites in the form of Chinooks. They're a meteorological phenomenon in which air pours over the top of a mountain range. It tumbles and rolls across itself, accelerating down the slopes. Friction works its magic and warms the air up. By the time it hits me, it's more like a spring breeze than the frozen gale it started off as.

I recommend it.

Though those of us living here are used to these little treats, 18 degrees was a little out of the ordinary. It caused some problems. It kicked up an early bout of spring fever at exactly a point when nobody was ready for it.

The warm winds blew gently across our necks. Jackets came off. Shirts were unbuttoned. Snow melted from the shoulders of our city. The streets grew moist. The air was filled with the thick, sloppy, and not entirely unpleasant aroma of nature's juices. People - normally limp and flaccid from the dark, post-festive drudgery of January - stood up, filled with energy, blood pumping through them. How many more of sexual metaphors do you bastards need? The entire city was in heat, and I'd be damned if I was going to miss it.

I threw on a pair of shorts and a baggy shirt (to conceal the remaining Festive Spirit that continued to shake like a bowlful of jelly - outside of December, that's just not cool). I grabbed a pair of sunglasses, and headed to the park to go for a run. I was gonna ogle me some boobies.

And ogle I did. The pathways were jam-packed full of gorgeous women eager to flash tender bits of winter-white skin at the sun.

I criss-crossed the park. I covered every inch of every path, twice. I wasn't going to let a single little chicky get past the leering, lecherous eyes I kept safely hidden behind dark lenses.

"God bless sports bras", I thought as I jogged.

"Pardon?" Said a young, slightly offended looking lady in a sports bra. She was in the middle of blessing a lucky bench with a very deep, very sexy leg stretch.

Ooops. I'd forgotten to use my Inside Voice.