I'm into something that most people consider odd, or off-putting, or grounds for institutionalization. There are no support groups for my alternative lifestyle, no Facebook groups, no Wednesday evening meetings in drafty church basements.
I'd probably like the drafty basements. I like cold weather.
There. I said it. It's out, and now the whole world knows how my heart fairly leaps when they call for windchills in the below zero Fahrenheit range, and the frost is on the pumpkin pie and the wind is howling on a moonlit night.
If there's one aspect of warm weather that I really dislike the most, it's humidity, which makes me feel like I'm wrapped in Saran Wrap. When it's cold, you don't have to worry about humidity.
And when it's warm, there is a limit as to how much clothing one can remove in public during a heat wave, as the people in my neighborhood are always reminding me in June, July and August.
No. I like it cold. I like wearing wool socks and thermal undies (Yes, I have a Union suit) and flannel shirts and sweaters and Carhartt jackets and gloves and a wool stocking cap.
And that's just for breakfast.
I know it's not the cool (so to speak) thing to like it cool, but I can handle the catcalls and querulous comments all winter long. I understand my ability to withstand cold is cause for a lot of emotions, but the one thing I really go nuts about is when the television news people and meteorologists have to put on the doleful face and act like they're calling for acid rain and pestilence when all they're saying is, it's going to be in the 20s for a few days.
O, the weeping, the wailing, the gnashing of teeth (or is that the chattering of teeth?) when cold weather is on the books!
And the newscasters are required by the FCC and station policy to blame the meteorologist for "bad" weather and thank him or her for "good weather."
And I'm busy looking for my woolies!
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