Winter. The bane of my existence. It is almost upon us and I am far from prepared.
Let’s quickly delve into a few reasons (there are so, so many) as to why I feel like Thanos really dicked things up by not including this foul season in his ‘sit down, be humble snap’.
“Crisp” becomes one of my most despised adjectives.
“It sure is crisp outside this morning.” Yes. Thank you Greg. I couldn’t tell due to the five layers of winter clothing and the multitude of scarves wrapped about my neck. Thank you for your most astute observation. I’m kidding Greg. It might be cold outside but that does not give you the right to associate the current temperature with a word that should only be reserved for the most wonderful of things.
Examples of said wonderful things below:
Crispy chicken. Crispy bacon. Crisp lasagne. Actual crisps.
Greg, you’ve ruined this for everyone.
Need I say more? No heat. No warmth. Damp, limp noodles for towels. Towels should be crisp! Add that as another example on the ‘crisp’ list above.
Our house is mould ridden enough as it is. I’m actually scared that I’ll wake up a completely different shade one morning, the mould having realised it’s full potential and begun the process of encompassing my entire body in it’s filthy, filthy spores.
Winter only provides comfort to the mould, emboldens it’s forces.
I’m going to be in a permanent state of hibernation. My social calendar will fade into obscurity. Loved ones won’t be able to tell whether I’m alive or dead.
I know that may sound like a damn good time but after a while it gets pretty lonely, and there’s only so much general chit-chat my cats can handle.
Animorphs: The Inconvenience Of It All
If I do have to venture out of the house, for whatever reason, I have to take so many items of clothing that I feel I’ve suddenly transformed into a camel being loaded up for a nine week trek into the Sahara. Except I’m not in the Sahara. I’m in my own personal, Arctic hell.
Having to lug around so much, only to remove it indoors (if there’s heating) and put it all back on again upon leaving is just not worth the hassle.
Park lunches become a thing of the past
Going out into the park for lunch is currently one of the best parts of my working day. Winter takes that joy from me and crushes it between it’s smooth, icy fingers.
I’ll have to hang up the picnic blanket and replace it with an actual blanket, stuck indoors like a right schmuck.
I welcome global warming. I look forward to eventually being admitted to the fiery depths of hell. The torture will definitely be worth it, if only for the fact that I will have intense, burning warmth as a constant companion.
Rug up and stay warm. We don’t want any casualties in the coming freeze.
Catch you later,
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