Baby, it's Cold Outside

Ladies and gentlemen, it’s January. And it is cold. It’s so cold it hurts.

It’s the kind of cold that keeps you underneath the covers until four o'clock in the afternoon and call in sick to work, because, of course, if you so happen to step outside of your house into this frigid weather you will get sick, you're sure of it. And of course, no self-respecting employer would wish sickness upon its most valuable employee, being you.

It’s the kind of cold that turns your fingers into little icicles, and makes your dog give you that, "Yeah, right" look when you try to take him for a walk.

How in the world did Abe Lincoln survive in his three-sided shack? Not to mention Laura Ingalls and Ma and Pa and the rest of the family. I'm whiny because I have to stick my nose outside the door to let the dog out, while Pa Ingalls was milking cows at 10 degrees below zero.

There is, however, something to be said for this weather. You get to wear all of your favorite sweaters and scarves, and eat Mom's chicken noodle soup in front of a warm fire. 

"Climate is what we expect, weather is what we get." — Mark Twain

Go Patriots!

Rachel