(I'm not, but I like to think I am.)
And yes, I am the first person to complain about the heat. I much prefer the cold.
But this is just too much.
Last year's winter was crazy heavy with snowfall, and it didn't make me hate snow.
I found it kind of amazing.
But this year, the cold has been enough to chill my enthusiasm for complaining about the heat.
(It has certainly been enough to have my heating oil company dancing in the aisles and planning a Caribbean vacation.)
Still, I was trying to hold on to my preference for winter.
I mean, I drive well in the snow. And snow makes everything look cleaner, at least at first, and the sweating is down to a minimum.
It's got things to recommend it.
But yeah, I nearly lost all feeling in my right arm after chopping through ice Wednesday.
And yeah, I'm not looking forward to going outside to shovel this latest load off my sidewalk. (Good reason to stay inside and write a blog post instead!)
But do you know what I'm really sick of about this winter?
|Not quite me in my winter coat, but you get the idea.|
I have a nice pair my mother-in-law gave me for Christmas and they're warm enough -- as long as you don't have to do anything with your hands.
It's like having tiny, fuzzy hot dogs on all your fingers.
Just try to manipulate your keys -- or pick up that random piece of paper that fell out of your coat pocket when you went fishing for your keys -- with gloves on.
Go ahead, just try.
Its enough to make me actually consider living in Florida.
(OK, not really, but that's how crazy its making me.)
And speaking of that coat.
It's warm, but its big.
It's so big, in fact, that I can't walk through the house, or down the street even, without knocking something over.
I feel like the Michelin Tire Man in a China shop, or Ralphie's little brother in "A Christmas Story."
I mean it's not like I'm a graceful swan the rest of the year or anything, more like a bowling ball with old shoes, but come on.
So enough already winter.
We give up.
Take what you want and go.