I hate friggin' winter

I hate winter. I hate the cold. I just hate it. When I'm cold, I'm miserable, and so is everyone else around me because I make sure of that. The house is drafty and cold. My work station is right by the back door so I'm cold all day at my job. I hate the friggin' cold!

"But if you didn't have to go to work, to a job, and could just be home, wouldn't you enjoy it then?" Mom says.

Oh, of course! I mean, if I didn't have to go to a job, I could stay in bed all day under twenty-three pounds of blankets and do nothing but drink hot cocoa all day long. Duh. Sure I would enjoy that! Who wouldn't?

Don't you just love these people who are constantly hot flashing, relishing the winter weather?

My brother-in-law who is, more or less a bonefied Yankee, picks on me, calls me a wimp, often referring to over-exaggerated examples of Ohio winters: "All you Texas are the same! You'd never make it up north!! You don't have winters anything like back home where it's ninety below zero and the snow is twelve feet deep, blah, blah, blah....."

Yes, but I am quite used to one-hundred and ten degree heat, so twenty degrees IS torturous to me. I don't exactly take fun in the fact that I cannot feel my toes or the ends of my fingers. You're right, I wouldn't make it up north. I'd probably curl up and die in the twelve feet of snow because I wouldn't know any better. And you know why? Because I grew up in Texas, you moron, where we occasionally have short-sleeved Christmases and don't always have to look like the younger brother from A Christmas Story ("I can't put my arms down!") just to walk three blocks.

Call me a wimp. Call me a wussy. I don't care.

Sigh. It's only December and already I miss the precious sunlight. I hate friggin' winter!