Today’s supposed to be the first snowfall of the season here in Pittsburgh. I woke up with a dried out throat thanks to sleeping with my little portable heater on High/ 80 degrees all night right beside the bed. It’s my second day in a pair of cute new tights, with cute new bargain-shopped winter suit. And it’s the first day I grabbed a scarf to go with my coat on my way out the door. Winter is here, my dears, and for once- I’m prepared.
My winter-phobia became a joke among my friends after one particularly belligerent bourbon-filled discussion. I alleged that historically the best and the brightest and most creative Americans must have been Southern, because their ancestors were smart enough to move somewhere where it only snowed 2 or 3 days a year. By this genius drunken theory, that left a less desirable evolutionary pool in the North of people not smart enough to get away from all the nasty snow and ice. My concluding stroke of brilliance- “Don’t blame me! I’m no eskimo!”
“I’m no eskimo” and “you’re no eskimo” are now part of the regular conversation any time I start whining about winter. I’ve also been informed several times that if I like, I am free to take my whiny, non-eskimo self back to where I came from.
To which I have to reply, “But it’s so cheap to live up here in this miserable weather!”.