Just like your awkward cousin at a BBQ, I have been making excuses for winter for several months now.
“Don’t you just love snow?” I’d say in the face of my co-workers’ glowers. “Sweater weather is the best!” I’d contend. “Don’t you love to be all cozy this time of year?” I’d insist.
I’ve also been in a spot we call denial: sometimes even wearing open toed shoes. Yes, open toed shoes. Am I crazy? Like a frozen fox! In fact, you can’t even get me to say one bad thing about snow even now. I still delight in every flake, from the fat flurries to the sparkling dry dust. I just made myself throw up a little at the alliteration in that last sentence, but you get the idea, I loves me the winter.
However, today my cock-eyed optimism ran straight into a little thing I like to call the teens and single digits (because that is what they are called.) I had to start contacting people:
“~J, did you know that it’s 14 degrees outside?”
Text message: “It’s 8 degrees. 8.”
“Jeffiner, it’s 3 degrees outside, I thought you should know.”
Instant message: It’s 3 degrees here with a high of 25 tomorrow.”
I mean, you go and defend a season: you tell all your friends that spring is predictable, that summer is boring with its heat and miserably bright sun, and then winter turns around and just goes arctic on your behind (alliteration avoided. Blast it.)
I fell in the parking lot trying to get to my car (ice is different from snow in my esteem.) I wasn’t even wearing heels, they were cute little flats. My teeth clattered about my mouth as I desperately pleaded with my car to warm up already! And yes, I am blaming my car instead of me and my decision to wear a skirt with no leg coverings. Don’t you know by now? You can’t blame fashion. I’m starting to blame winter.
It’s 2 degrees right now, people, 2 degrees.