Despite the wet sheen upon my pasty face and the similarity
in color and density to my ashen white hammy hocks, I don’t love snow anywhere
on or near my cozy toes and holey socks. While some insane folks DO enjoy
seasonal greetings to strut their trendy form-fitting fashion-first clothing,
despite my girth, I am the LAST one interested in gearing up for heavy weather. I already have trouble
enough with the one overcoat zipper that God and Walmart gave me so why would I
ever want to wade through a half-dozen or more layers to bundle the bulk up for
inclement weather.
Part of the problem is as a usually wet n’ sweaty yeti I
will profusely perspire even if I have to merely look-up on-line to find down and Merino wooly winter clothing. I
am not sure if it is all that sanitary anyway to wear tufted muffs fluffed with
stuff sneaked from the fleece of geese. Usually it is my policy to avoid
getting goosed regardless if it is to my feet in the street or when donning a parka
in the darka.
I admit I also get a little jealous of all school-age ‘nit-Inuits’ around here since they usually
get time off from class when the white stuff starts to float and fly from the
sky. No adults I know are that lucky and instead are forced to do the REAL
homework just trying to dig out a footpath to the front door. Oh sure we oldsters
do some frequent sledding down the driveway too, but usually it’s in sheer
terror like an out-of-control car wearer
instead of care-free glee as an American Flyer bearer.
So save your iciest stares and cubed precip drips for those
over-blown chum-bucket challenges and porky pink polar bear plungers. I don’t
care where you shave that irritating icy Olaf
or sugar coat your snowy cones as long as you do ‘em somewhere far north of
Santa’s pole and preferably my pen. Because no matter the season or weather, I’ll never
endeavor for the cold-shouldered pleasure of ANY powder covered lump - except maybe
a doughnut and a HOT cup o’ joe!
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