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It is OVER

February 9, 2011

Last night, on a rather hot date, I hit the wall about winter cold. Holding hands was sweet but didn’t do much to thaw my feet. Kissing fogged our glasses and froze the tiny hairs on my upper lip to my scarf (yes, ladies have lip hair! what of it?). Batting eyelashes nearly made the poor lashes crack, and playing footsie under the dinner table was simply a hazard in thermal boots unless we wanted a shinful of bruises. Winter courtship demands a stout heart and the ability to cast ahead to springtime and imagine what your date looks like in fifteen fewer layers. Luckily, I have a vivid imagination and robust patience, and can only hope my date has the same. Fingers crossed he sticks around to see that yes, indeed, I am shaped like something other than a parka-popsicle with leg-sticks jutting out the bottom. Sometimes, I can even look rather pretty! And, my hair doesn’t always look fresh off the toboggan hill.

Dates and dinners and kisses aside, I am done with being so cold I can’t make the touch screen on my phone work because it doesn’t register a hand is making contact. And, I’m done with jabbing my index finger at the subway transfer dispenser which, like the phone, can’t read my body temperature and refuses to spit out the little slip of paper that lets me get on the next train. Furthermore, I am done with making fists inside my mittens because my fingers are still cold when muffled in down. I’m tired of wearing textiles fashioned from parts stolen off animals, and I’m tired of my sweaters all having a slight whiff of B.O. because hand-washing delicates and woolens in a sink of icy water is the last chore I want to tackle and instead, have started hanging my clothes on the balcony for an hour or so to air.  Although, at least if I stink, no one’ll be able to tell anyhow, what with the 47 coats piled over top.

I considered booking a last-minute trip someplace hot, but this seemed short-sighted. Eventually, I would have to board the plane and return home. When I disembarked back here in Winter Kingdom, would I feel restored and ready for another two months of snow? Or, would I pine for the islands and beaches and hordes of travelers till spring finally arrives? Instead, I decided to stop talking to winter, give it the silent treatment, pretend it doesn’t exist. Hear that, winter? I am so over you! I am ignoring you for good starting in five-four-three-two-one…

 

 

 

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