At the risk of bringing up a taboo subject, I have to ask: Have you noticed how cold it's been lately?
I hate to say anything because it's February in Vermont, after all. Cold weather is no surprise. And you can't complain about it, especially if you're a flatlander; there are too many natives around who will cheerfully advise you to move somewhere warmer -- specifically, back to where you came from.
Not that Vermonters like the cold. They just don't talk about it, because it doesn't do any good. But everyone is suffering. Even if you choose to use words like “brisk” and “bracing” when “deadly” would work better, you can't deny this weather stinks.
It can affect you in numerous small ways. Maybe you “forgot” to drag out your recycling last week. Or perhaps you secretly wondered if the video store, post office and redemption center might consider installing drive-through windows. Or maybe you've noticed that lately, rather than skiing or snowshoeing, your only form of outdoor recreation is jump-starting your car.
Surely you've awoken in the middle of the night in discomfort and had to choose between bladder failure and walking barefoot across the bathroom floor. You lie there for hours gritting your teeth and crossing your legs, wondering why the Legislature hasn't banned ceramic tile in Vermont.
Besides the physical inconveniences of the cold, there's the simple matter of vanity. At this time of year, cold sores provide the only hint of color on our pasty, sun-starved faces. Our hair is dull; our skin is dry and cracked. It's a fact: We're hideous.
And we can't even dress to distract the eye form our pallor because it's too cold. If you like the lengthening and slimming effect of a pair of high-heeled boots, just try crossing a driveway after a brief warm spell has melted the top layer of ice. A sensible girl will put on big, ugly insulated boots that shout “survival gear” rather than “high style” and postpone lengthening and slimming until the weather moderates.
Similarly, if you usually like to show off your decolletage, forget it. Turtlenecks and scarves beat an arctic wind whistling through your Wonder Bra every time.
The last concession most women will make to the cold is hats. Surveys show that 92 percent of females would rather have their ears fall off than put on any sort of head covering. Frostbite is painful and disfiguring, yes; but it's not nearly as big a fashion “don't” as showing up in public with hat hair.
A couple of weeks ago, when the temperatures dropped into the minus 20 F range, I still didn't see too many women in hats. But, in three separate incidents, I witnessed teenagers wearing winter coats. That's pretty cold.
It's not just teenagers; other domesticated animals are reacting to the weather as well. These days, our cat won't go out without encouragement, which we provide in the form of a light underhand pitch. It gets him onto the porch, but we have to slam the door quickly to prevent him from reversing direction in midair and boomeranging right back in.
And our little dog Sophie's dislike for the winter manifests itself in a unique cold-weather talent, for which we have dubbed her “The Thermomopoodle”: We can determine the outside temperature just by measuring how far from the house she does her business. One foot equals one degree Fahrenheit.
It's true. With the first frost, she ventures out exactly 30 feet from the door. Then, when the temperatures hit the single digits, she confines her duties to the stoop.
Basic math skills show the problem inherent in this system: When it's below zero, she goes into negative distances from the door, preferring to get things done under the kitchen table.
Can you blame her? Nobody wants to go outside in this weather. And I think we'd all feel a lot better if we'd stop trying to deny it and started being honest about our feelings. Call me a whiny flatlander if you want.
But please don't tell me to go back to Massachusetts. Do you know how much snow they have down there?