I hate the frappin cold

First, let me say, Welcome Chris. I was very excited to see a new follower along with my beloved 12. In part, because when narcissitically blogging, as I do, I want numerical verification that someone is willing to read the words but also because she is one of my best friends from Knoxville. Comments from any and all would also be great. But I digress from my intended plan of griping about the cold.

When my husband and I were first dating he discovered I had an interesting habit during cold months. I would get in the car and scream. This was usually a reaction to my pants touching the back of my legs when I sat down. Followed immediately by saying, "I'm cold, I'm cold, I'm cold, " at escalating volumes.

This ritual to deal with the weather dated back to childhood in emulation of my mother. I also did it if in the car by myself. He tolerated this in the early days but, this habit of mine, was one of the things that had to go in pursuit of an actual relationship. Jeff couldn't handle the screaming in the confined space. I guess that bodes well for me in terms of never having to worry about him murdering me in a closet. But he no longer has to hear it, only my children. I still do it when I'm by myself too.

Which leads me to discuss the weather. I realize it has only gotten down to 40 but that is just a precursor of the cold that is to come. Months and months of potential chapped lips, searching for gloves, and chill bumps. The only good thing I can say about it is it kills mosquitos.