Winter seems to be going on forever around here. The dog is dragging his wiener every time he goes out for a pee, and I seem to be shoveling more of the salty slush that the plow keeps throwing in the driveway. It’s a constant barrage of melancholia and it’s really taking it’s toll on us.
Not wanting to get out of bed in the morning and constantly checking your weather app in hopes of some bizarre warm front coming in and easing our pain are a couple of the symptoms of this shitty condition. There are others, but they involve me standing naked on the front step with nothing but a pair of boots to keep me warm. There is usually a trip to the hospital that accompanies this scenario, so I think it’s a speak no evil, hear no evil moment. I’d like to add “see no evil” in there as well, but I think the meter reader might have a difference of opinion on that one.
Anyhow, my wife had been lamenting about how depressed she was getting with all of this snow keeping us from doing a lot of the things we would normally do , and then she had a genius idea for kicking these winter blahs directly in the crotch.
We would get bundled up and make the trek to to the store for some candy, then we would come home and make ourselves feel better until we threw up.
So we got dressed up in our warmest clothes and clunkiest boots and headed down the unplowed sidewalk. As we were walking, I looked over at the lady that I will be growing old with and I realized that we are well on our way to the golden years.
Today she threw on a plaid lumberjack coat, one of the kid’s owl hats, and a pair of discoloured work gloves. I was wearing her onesie with my parka, and a pair of insulated rubber boots that came just below the knee. We must have been quite a sight coming through the door at Foodland.
Oh well, we walked out of there with a kilo of jujubes and a bag of Dairy Milk chocolate, so we were okay with a few odd looks from the townsfolk.
They are going to have to get used to it.