Winter whining-land

When I think of those people in the North who are without power, shivering in a nor’easter, I should be grateful for what I’ve got. Sadly, I’m not. Watching our pennies means keeping the thermostat down. In the cold, I have the blood circulation of a clogged toilet (without the ecoli). My hands get frostbite when I open the refrigerator door.

Winter doesn’t officially begin for another six weeks. That hasn’t stopped me from rooting around desperately for my flannel jammies and turtlenecks. I look in disbelief at the Land’s End catalog, where people look so happy cavorting in the snow in little more than a polar fleece vest and an ugly knit cap. You can’t convince me that someone’s not holding their pet hamster for ransom. “Smile, or the rodent dies!”

Yesterday we had hail – in South Carolina, for Pete’s sake! Crushed ice is only appropriate in slurpies. So every time I take the dog out, I have to put on my fuzzy robe, scarf, and gloves. I miss tank tops, shorts, and sweat. I’m having fond memories of hot flashes.

I rarely shave my legs in the winter because a) I’m lazy; and b) the hair keeps my legs warm at night, which is good since it doesn’t exactly entice people into cuddling. It’s like spooning a llama.

Yesterday, I ordered three new turtlenecks. I fully expect to spend the next few days with my nose pressed against the door, looking out the peephole for the UPS truck. C’mon, c’mon, c’mon! My current turtlenecks are getting frayed. I’m afraid to pull any dangling threads, lest the whole thing disintegrates in my hands like moldy cheese.

I pray for the folks up north without power, but selfishly, I pray for a mild winter here as well. Guess I better take the dog out. Have to stay awake so I don’t freeze to death. It can’t be above fifty degrees out there.