Talking small

I would like to stop talking to people about the weather. At this point, it’s just dumb.

I see someone in the hall and inform them that it’s cold. They know it’s cold. Everyone knows it’s cold.

I like to tell people that I’m wearing two pairs of pants, and that wearing two pairs of pants is the key to staying warm.  Maybe the title of my autobiography will be “Two Pairs of Pants and a Dream.”

I tell people about my dog, Annie, who lays in the snow because she’s part husky and part malamute. People find this amusing.

I think that I should either find other things to say to people, or just smile quietly.

One winter, a few years ago, I decided to keep saying “I love winter!” over and over in the hope that saying it would make it true. That did not work. Now I complain. I’m also in the habit of telling people that I know I shouldn’t complain about things that I can’t change.  People tend to agree with that idea.

I talk to people who don’t seem to mind the cold, and I say to them, “you’re one of those people who like winter aren’t you?’ I call them freaks or weirdos if I know them well enough.

In the meantime, I try to remember to be grateful for my warm house, and my warm car, and hot water. I take long, hot showers just to warm up. I waste water, but it feels so good.

So what I’ve done here is write a post about talking too much about the weather. I am still, in fact, talking too much about the weather by the very act of writing this post.

I’m wearing two pairs of pants!

Snow and trees
I don’t like this!

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