How Cold Is It?

Disclaimer: I am a total wimp when it comes to cold weather. I know that it's actually not that frigid here, and I am thankful for an apartment with heat, plenty of clothes and hot food. 


But I hate cold weather. 



I hate cold, I hate wind, I hate my fingers going numb after 20 seconds outside. I hate feeling the cold wind whip through my clothes and making my ears feel nonexistent.



And since we're talking about colorful words and rich descriptions in my classroom, I'm here to give you a few details about cold-weather-Becster.



Cold is waking up and getting a drink of water that is icy cold after sitting on your nightstand for 8 hours.



Cold is putting your contacts in and marveling that they can feel that cold without actually freezing solid, or freezing your eyeballs (praise heavens for the low freezing temp of saline solution).



Cold is coming home after 10 hours at work to an apartment that is resting at 55 degrees, and the space heater in the kitchen to keep the dog from freezing to death is hardly making a dent.



Cold is swearing wildly at anything and everything, trying to scoop up said dog's poo in the dark while she prances manically around and the wind goes through your six layers like they're not even there. The weirdly bone-like rattling of the PA State Emissions Testing sign across the street only confirms your suspicions that this is hell. (Who says hell is all fire? Sounds great to me.)



Cold is finally getting back inside and frantically rubbing your limbs together to try and warm up, only to realize the toilet seat upon which you rest is actually made of ice.



Not wanting to shower or use said toilet because it requires the removal of clothes.



Realizing that ironing is, in fact, the greatest chore known to man, simply because it warms up your hands.



Cold is realizing that your feet are numb from the tile floor, in spite of the socks, slippers, and rug separating your actual phalanges from the tile.



Cold is begging your dog, your husband, the hot water, and that warm spot in between your own knees to finally warm up your hands after what feels like a lifetime of being cold and knowing that, even though spring is bound to come eventually, you will never ever feel suitably warm again and so you should just go to sleep and hope that you don't wake up because the apartment has reached ungodly temperatures without you being there to monitor the thermostat, because undoubtedly your husband will turn the heat off, since a low electric bill takes higher priority than a live wife.



Yep. I hate winter.