I’m out of denial. Summer is gone. Even though we are STILL playing baseball (some horrid thing called “fall” ball a fanatic dad probably created to continue living his missed opportunity through his son – yeah Baseball is awesome) my beloved summer has passed away.
I ignored the colder weather. I pretended like the shortening of daylight wasn’t really happening. I refused to look at the changing of the leaves screaming at me in all of their colored glory. Until one crisp morning I almost did a pajama-wearing-butt plant (because PJs are what all of the real Mom’s wear) right in our driveway in perfect view of all of the neighborhood parents on bus patrol (and their children who would surely howl and ridicule my dear son for years to come).
Yep. The culprit was several of the huge, wet, majestic, red colored leaves that came into contact with my rebellious flip-flop wearing feet.
As I flapped my arms around like ineffective wings and bent back and forth trying to stabilize the potential crash and likely fracture of some important bone, I finally screamed,
OKAY, IT IS FALL…YOU HAVE ARRIVED. I ACKNOWLEDGE YOU!!!
And, almost immediately, I regained control. Bam, just like that (which is a miracle for anyone aware of my level of coordination and control).
Don’t get me wrong. I actually like fall. I was married in the fall. The fall is beautiful. BUT it signifies the end of summer and eminent evil. It is what comes after fall that I abhor….hate…dispise…detest…
Old man Winter needs taken off of life support where he can die a quick, painless or painful (I prefer painful) death. Because each winter a small chunk (yes, chunk – I have more chunks in the winter) of me dies. Dead.
Don’t believe me? Have you tried pumping gas in the dead of winter? I guarantee you my fingers had frost bite (I’m sure on the edge of gangrenous). It’s torture! You clench your teeth, groan a little, tap dance and giggle while trying not to draw unnecessary attention or trip over the gas pump spilling gas all over yourself (told you coordination wasn’t my gift but in my defense it was a very windy day).
Wait, what about cuddling by the fire-place with your honey navel gazing? Ha-ha. In what world? Harlequin Romance? Sorry, we are real world here. By the time you make the fire, that is, if you can do so without smoking out your house, the desire to spend one more second by the smoke pit has long evaporated along with your intracellular fluid and you spend the rest of your evening in the kitchen guzzling water and getting stomach cramps.
Now, a gas fire-place does add a nice touch to a freezing house but don’t you dare try to cuddle beside me. I like my space and two adults trying to cram onto a couch is not only uncomfortable but is also an unwanted chiropractic adjustment waiting to happen. Blanket on the floor? Ouch, no. There is nothing romantic or cozy about winter.
Beautiful snow? Give it a few hours and this “beautiful snow” becomes a nasty, sloppy, brown (or yellow depending if you have dogs) sludge that is dirty and messy and melts all over your faux hard wood floors creating a dreadful warped appearance.
I could go on forever so just trust me, winter is evil. Granted I didn’t always feel this way. As a gullible kid I thought I loved winter because my brother, cousins and I were brain washed to play outside in sub-zero temps for hours. This time of extreme cold exposure (I KNOW I had frostbite as a kid) was created to give our housewife mothers a brief glimpse of sanity sans kids.
We found ourselves bundled up and shown the door. And when we complained that our cheeks hurt or our lips bled each time we talked or smiled, we were slathered with vaseline and informed that cold weather was good for us and killed germs.
Just in case you weren’t aware, we were the first humans to develop extreme sled riding. Our version of extreme sled riding was slightly different from most and involved a 100% grade hill…located in a functional cow pasture with barbed wire at the bottom. FYI, frozen cow patties add quite a vertical lift and ample air time to any sled riding experience. But if you accidentally hit your head or limb off of a patty be prepared for a concussion or fracture at best.
The barbed wire in our extreme sledding is a different story. After a near decapitation incident, I decided that maybe extreme sled riding wasn’t the best sport for my non-coordinated body to partake in. My brother offered to ride with me and promised to stop long before the decapitating barbed wire. However, it only took me one ride (one ride too many) to discover that his idea of stopping actually meant hurling me off until I formed my own moving snowball avalanche.
Wait, what?!? Some of you guys actually enjoy Old Man Winter? Seriously? What do you like about the old dude who seems to find a way into each and every anatomical crevice regardless of the layers of wool or goose down?
Ok, well you can have him. ’cause as Talyor Swift sings so well (no doubt, I’m convinced about old man winter)
We are Never, Ever, Ever Ever getting back together…like ever!!