The Woes of Winter

As we make our way through the winter, there are certain people who seem oblivious to the windchill and other elements of the, ever-so-popular, Polar Vortex. For instance, I'm driving up the road the other morning. The temperature outside was about 2 degrees. As I'm waiting for my car's heater to restore the feeling back into my fingers and toes, all I can to do keep warm is think about a sunny beach somewhere far south of here. My visions of island girls and palm trees are quickly interrupted as I catch a glimpse of a female jogger running along the side of the road. She's wearing a pair of those thin Lycra running pants and a light warm-up jacket. She seems to be defying all of the natural physics laws regarding frostbite.

And then there are the cigarette smokers. Have you ever noticed how they huddle up outside of an office building, freezing their asses off as they puff away? I saw one guy shivering so bad, he was barely able to get the cigarette into mouth. Every time he went to take a puff, he would poke various parts of his face with the cigarette before eventually finding his mark. I was worried that he might put his eye out before it was all over. As he assumed the trademark look of the "Alpine Smoker" (one hand in his pocket with both shoulders hunched up), I couldn't help but feel a little sorry for him. By the way, why do smokers hunch their shoulders up like this in the winter? Does it really make them warmer?

Have you ever been having a conversation outside in the winter and your mouth begins to freeze shut? I'm serious. The other day, I was talking to a colleague as we exited an office building. After about five minutes, I began to have trouble forming my words. I soon realized that it was because my mouth was gradually freezing. With each passing second, I began to sound more and more like Bob Dylan. I abruptly threw my hand up to my friend and tried my best to say, "I gotta go." Of course, it came out like, "Idaho."

A few weeks ago, my tennis buddies invited me up to the courts to play a few sets. Even though the temperature was still in the 30's, I was eager to get out. However, after about 15 minutes, my hands turned blue and developed the flexibility of an ice cube. I felt like a arthritic Papa Smurf as I desperately tried to grasp the tennis racquet. Meanwhile, people were driving past on nearby Dorsey Road, beeping their horns and yelling, "Hey, you assholes! Is it cold enough for ya?" It was bad enough to be out her freezing my ass off. Now, I had to take a barrage of insults too. Was this really necessary??

Last week, the Fedex guy shows up at my door with a package. As I opened the door, I was blinded by the sunlight reflecting off of the snow in my front yard. It was like staring directly into a solar eclipse. Instinctively, I shielded my eyes with my forearm and said, "Whoa! What the hell??" The Fedex guy probably thought I was nuts as I reached for the package with my forearm still draped across my forehead.

Yesterday, as I drove out of my neighborhood, my bitter feelings toward Mother Nature grew ever more closer to the irreconcilable stage. Having a hard time distinguishing between the wet asphalt and black ice, I was forced to drive considerably slower than the posted speed limit. This, in itself, was reason enough for me to hurl several more four-letter insults at the Nature Lady.

For some unknown reason, I am always fooled into thinking that March will instantly bring in, at least, a hint of spring. But as yesterday's snow showed us, winter is determined to hang around a little while longer. With St. Patricks Day is right around the corner, I'm now wondering if the sacred holiday of green beer and Irish Car Bombs will be jeopardized. For Irishmen, like myself, this would be a major disappointment (Ok, I'm not technically Irish, but I'm pretty good at making the McWilson assimilation in mid-March.). I can tell you this much....if it comes down to a battle between Mother Nature and a drunken Leprechaun, I will be rooting for the little, angry green guy!!

kw