The Iceman Cometh

We just got walloped with some snow.  More ice than snow, really, and because it’s above freezing now the crap is melting everywhere.  I had to lift Punksin over some monster-sized puddles this morning.

Have I mentioned? I hate winter. Really.

I do not like snow.  I do not like the cold. I do not like having to put on more than 1 layer of clothing to leave the house, and I do not like having to wear coats, boots, jackets and all that other cold weather stuff.

I do not like skiing.  I have not tried it, which of course goes against all of my advice to Punksin (how do you know you don’t like hamburger if you’ve never tried it, sweetie?), but I just feel like it’s outside, in cold weather, in all that white crap, none of which I’m enamored of, so I think I’m making a pretty good guess here.

I shouldn’t complain.  We’ve had, as winters go, a relatively mild one.  Last week it was up in the 60s.  I don’t see how anyone could possibly dispute global warming – long before the term hit everyone’s hot list I was noticing that the winters of late were not anything like the winters of my childhood, when you were pretty much guaranteed a few snow days a year, days when the neighborhood got dumped with a foot or so of snow and I would go outside and climb snow forts taller than I was.  (Note I said climb them, not build them – I wasn’t any big fan of the cold back then either.)

So here I am today, looking out at a day that is dreary and gray.  Ugh.

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