I was reminded of something a short while ago when I went to fill my car up with gas: I freakin’ hate the cold!
Sure, I’ve never lived anywhere where it was lovely and semi-tropical all the time, but I have a great appreciation for such climes. Today, as the “arctic chill” (not a new flavor of Gatorade) descends upon us over here in North Texas, I have to stop and think about just how much I really hate being cold.
Mind you, me being truly cold doesn’t happen very often. My metabolism is such that I generate an almost constant amount of heat regardless of external temperatures or levels of activity. As a result, when squeezle is bundled up under three blankets, flannel jammies, a sweatshirt and at least two kitties while still shivering, I’m traipsing around in soccer shorts and a t-shirt.
Thanks to my own personal tropical environment, when I get cold it is honestly a miserable experience. Take my gas station experience. My car’s thermometer said that it was 46°F, seven degrees warmer than when I came into work this morning. I’m not sure if my morning meetings destroyed that much of my will, but it felt a good fifteen degrees colder out there than the 39°F I wandered through at 7:30AM.
I want to know where the hell all this supposed “global warming” (read that with “air quotes” for added effect) is that we’ve been listening to scientists/politicians/radicals/etc. about for the past umpteen years. I could really go for some nice 70°F winter days outside of coastal California. All cold weather is good for is bringing on my grumpus.
I can’t feel my hands, I get a grumpus.
Arctic tendrils of wind rip right through my hefty jacket, I get a grumpus.
Texans driving six miles an hour over a bridge that last saw preciptation while the World Series was going on, I get a grumpus.
I think you can see the trend.
Is it Spring yet?