How is anyone expected to be as happy in the winter as they are in the blissful, bird songed, green leafed days of summer? And in many ways recent changes make me believe that I am as happy and more so, though my cold feet and numb fingers don't tend to share the same assumption.
Anyway, I'm spending my night with two lesbo cocker spaniels, Deliliah and Midge, the depressing edith piaf move "la vie en rose", a bottle of wine, some double layered socks and the sweatshirt that I haven't dared to take off in days.
So, this is my life in pink. That is to say, pink cheeks, pink nose, pink hands.
"La vie en frostbite".
Seriously people. 18 layers and frozen streets and boots that draw blood from my ankles? Gusts of ice that pierce my corneas? Bruised knees and aching wrists? Why on earth do we deal with this every year?
I go to bed with a Nalgene of hot water every night, poor substitute for some man's hairy legs. Much harder to warm my toes AND my arms with just one water bottle. I wonder if they make ho- water-fillable body pillows? If so, I am willing to pay the price.
Oh, and Happy Holidays and all that jolly crap!
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