The wind blew. It nipped at my face. It pierced through my thin jacket. It made me work for each and every step as I made my way to the metro. The cold reached an almost intolerable level. And you know what, it’s about damn time!
Oh you warm weather people have certainly rejoiced this winter. “Oh isn’t this weather lovely.” “It’s such a mild winter.” “Gosh, I love 70 degree Januarys.” I hate you all. There’s a time for warm weather–it’s called the summer, and it should have ended months ago.
I may have to turn in my Southern Card for this, but I don’t enjoy the warm weather all the freaking time. Warm weather exposes part of my heritage that I try to hide…my swine heritage. It makes me sweat like a pig whenever the mercury goes above 70.
August 2006 in DC is just one big muggy, dripping memory. I remember sticking to the pavement, wilting in the heat, and braving code red days. I remember taking a date on a mile walk/Bataan Death March from the King Street metro station to a bar in Old Town Alexandria during one of those code red days, and I remember once we got to the bar knowing that all the beer in the Old Dominion could not save that date.
Now don’t get me wrong, I’m not a fan of extreme cold weather either, but I need my seasons. I need for a few months of the year to be hot and I need the others to be cold. It doesn’t have to be a perfect 50/50 split, but it better be close. In January if the AC is still running, if the bears aren’t hibernating, and if I can lay on the sidewalk, flap my arms up and down and make sweat angels on the pavement, then something is horribly, horribly wrong.
Thank you cold weather for setting the world right.