Baby, It's Cold Outside (And I Have Wet Feet)

And I'm not kidding. A couple days ago, I saw on CNN that somewhere in Alaska, the temperatures were nearing 50 below zero. I laughed at the Alaskans who were stuck with that stroke of bad luck, and followed that up with, "I'm laughing now, but in another week, we'll probably have the same thing."

I swear I was kidding. Famous last words.

I know it's cold because I am wearing four shirts and still freezing. And because the storefront windows downtown are frosted with ice. You'd think all that ice would insulate the buildings they adorn, but nope. Four shirts and freezing.

I'm tired of winter. I am pretty sure my feet have not been dry for more than 10 minutes- maybe 15- in the last 4 months. They got wet when I was canvassing for Barack Obama one day. It was 45 degrees out and raining Democrats and Republicans. (Yeah, that was dumb, I know, but I figured I'd bypass the cats and dogs thing and go with a theme.) Our county coordinator (this was before I took over that position) forced us to go out and knock on people's doors anyway. I had several people, whether or not they were Obama supporters, offer me towels, hot chocolate, and many other warm and comforting things. One person, a student of mine, actually, offered me a ride and I had to explain that I was actually out in that kind of weather on purpose and had to keep walking. I have never been so wet in my life, at least not for that long.

It didn't stop raining for the next month (that could be a slight exaggeration), and as soon as it stopped raining, it started snowing. And everytime I go out in the snow, my shoes and socks get wet. Taking them off doesn't help, because I'm short, which means the bottoms of my pants get wet, too. And I can't very well show up at the mall and take off my coat, then follow up by also removing my shoes, socks, and pants. That doesn't go over very well. And my purse, while it approximates a small suitcase, is not nearly big enough to hold an entire change of clothes for the lower half of my rather large body.

I would give anything to have dry feet. I am pretty sure I'm beginning to grow webs between my toes. And while I'm sure ducks and platypuses (platypusi) have wonderful lives, I'm not one, and I don't want to be one.

It's January now. In another month, the whole groundhog thing is gonna go down. Punxsutawney Phil the Groundhog will crawl out of his hole, look for his shadow, and pronounce spring's impending arrival. As a resident of Michigan's Upper Peninsula, I am here and now going to pronounce the whole ritual a crock of shit. Good ol' Phil could see six hundred shadows and we still ain't gettin' spring 'til well into May.

And my feet still won't be dry. This is how it will all happen. There will be a few days in March when it warms up enough for the snow to melt a little and the dirt underneath it to turn to mud. the snow that's left will turn brown and ugly. Everyone will wish it was still winter because spring is so ugly. And then it will snow again and everyone will wish it was spring because winter is so cold. April will come. We will have our traditional April Fool's Day storm- what, you thought it was spring? HA! FOOLED you! And then things will begin to melt in earnest. Snow will no longer wet my feet. Instead, I will tromp through sticky, gooey puddles and pits of mud, and the mud will wet my feet. April showers will flood the still nearly-frozen ground. And May flowers? No such animal. It will rain more in May than it did in April and my feet will be soaked in the waters of spring.

Finally, by the beginning of June, the mud will begin to dry. In June, my feet will be dry, too.

And as soon as they are, I'm goin' to the beach.