It never ceases to amaze me how my Christmas obsession moves to Spring fever in a matter of a days, but it happens every year. I spend months longing for Bean Boots, tights, fur, Elf, carols, and egg nog. Then that resort, Lilly Pulitzer state of mind kicks in, hastened by the incessant mid-January #tbt of 95% of my Instagram feed, boasting photos of summers past. It's in the sea of pink & turquoise, beaches, and tans that I begin my journey of longing for warmer days even earlier than usual. I can feel the ice of my drink melting from the summer heat, while the (cliche) smell of jasmine wafts through the air. I count down the days until it's time for an Arnold Palmer while watching the Masters, a julep for the Derby, and breakfast at Wimbledon. And no matter what the dermatologist says, there's nothing quite like the feel of sun on your skin. I'm counting down the weeks until Spring. Now excuse me while I unearth my bottle of fake and bake..