At this point in January, winter and its joys are dead. And until the coming of the Übermensch or the equinox (whichever comes first), as far as I’m concerned, GOD IS DEAD, TOO.
Sorry, nihilism is nothing to joke about. But really, when the weather dips into single digits and your feet dip into four inches of slush on the walk to Usdan, you can’t help but wonder if the light at the end of the tunnel isn’t just snowblindness.
Once coffee shops, malls, and radio stations stop incessantly playing Christmas carols, the whole winter wonderland tomfoolery really fizzles out. It’s a miserable three more months without even the promise of Santa or a son of York to leaven the discontent.
SUCK IT, BING.
Now I’ll admit, newfallen snow is one of the most aesthetically pleasing visual confections in existence—but it only lasts for so long. After a short interval of being lovely, it gets:
- trampled on by thousands of feet
- muddied up
- refrozen into unattractively mottled and misshapen lumps on the sides of streets
- tracked into buildings to melt and slip people up
- melted into slush
- melted into all your clothes so you smell like wet dog all the time
Let’s hear you croon about that.
Beyond just the inconvenience of snow, there’s a whole host of discomforts associated with the cold weather. On a personal note, my cactus, Edna, died after being left by the window.
For those who haven’t experienced the joys and sorrows of cactus ownership, more general problems include:
- dangerous road conditions
- depressingly early nightfall
- wet hair freezing
- chapping and/or frostbite
- wasting what amounts to a good hour each day putting on and taking off multiple articles and layers of cold weather gear
- those white salt stains on all your shoes
- slipping in public places
- falling in public places
- awkwardly pretending you’re not crying in public places
- tears freezing on your face in public places
It isn’t this cute when it really happens. Not that this happened to me.
As you can see, these seemingly minor discomforts tend to accumulate even more quickly than those damned snow flurries, and all that’s left to do is fetal-position yourself in bed and sip something to keep you warm.
My last word on the subject: vodka’s freezing point is -16.5oF. Make of that what you will.
By Alice Lee and Hanna Bahedry