It’s not you, it’s me. It’s not your fault that I enjoy feeling my face, or not having to wear three layers of clothes. You deserve more than a fly-by-night wishing and hoping for you on special occasions, only to have me looking for brighter (warmer) things in the next moment.
Okay…maybe it’s a little bit you.
I mean, maybe if there could be bubbles over the roads, or plows had magical evaporators so it wasn’t just a frozen mess of unfortunately piled ridiculousness, or you weren’t so bitter…ly cold, that is. Maybe we could make this work.
Maybe, just maybe, if it could all be building snowmen (with their own personal snow flurries!) or getting lost in the glorious squeals and giggles of flying down a perfectly powder-covered hill; being snuggled by a fire with a cup of hot cocoa, but it’s not.
It’s just not.
No, it’s frost and scraping windows. Shoveling and shoveling, and for kicks and not so many giggles, chipping away at ice. It’s slipping and sliding (maybe a little deeply ungraceful falling). It’s tracking sogginess across my rugs and taking three times longer to get all my people bundled and out the door. It’s piling on layer after layer to fend off that bitter cold, only to swelter away with unquestionably necessary, but often overenthusiastic, heaters. So what if in the summer I long for cooler days, I never said I wasn’t fickle. So maybe it is me and not you.
It can’t all be roses and sunshine, you say? To that I scoff, What Sunshine?! And no offense, but there are times when you make parking in a parking lot an entirely laughable affair – we are LOST without those lines, man! Never mind fighting the good fight with my shopping cart, shoving and pleading and hoping that those tiny wheels that are not at all made for inclement weather can make the journey to my car.
I’m just…Over it. Over it, over you, over the whole thing. I’m tired of trudging through knee deep snow to the bus stop with the wind sneaking past my scarf, inside my hood, and down my back. I’m tired of a level of cold that creates an instant fog on my glasses every time I step inside. I know, I know I live here, it’s part of the charm – these changing seasons – and I really did enjoy our time together over Christmas, but I think I’d really be happy if this could have been a December 1 to December 31 romance…Okay, I’m not totally coldhearted, a December to January romance.
It’s you, not me.
Originally printed in the pages of Simply Family Magazine’s February 2018 issue.
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