|I am not smiling in that first photo. |
I am trying to get my tears to unfreeze.
I should have been more prepared, I'll admit. It began snowing earlier in the week. I could see it starting to come down and fervently tried to ignore it (I spent two hours pinning photos of beach houses on Pinterest), but then Tim came in and said, "WOW! The snowflakes are as big as my head!" After that I lost all touch with reality. (I live in a nice little state of denial every November through March, which is why it comes as such a nasty shock to me when I am forced to venture outside my apartment and realize it is not, in fact, the middle of summer.)
And then Saturday came, with overcast skies, white snow, slushy slippery streets, and the worst kind of wind in the history of all winds: biting, slicing, kung-fu-category wind. Seriously, if it weren't for the wind, I might not mind a Danish winter. It gets just as cold in Georgia and I survive that. I strap myself to three space-heaters and if I ever have to go outside, I only walk the three feet between my front door and car. That way, I don't have to actually dress for the weather. Of course, I don't have a car here, so my summer wardrobe (sun-dresses, flimsy tank-tops, what have you) is completely useless to me.
But even when I am at my smartest (sweater, fleece jacket, Land's End snow coat, stockings, jeans, two pairs of wool socks, a huge scarf, a hood, mittens, and my hiking boots, and yes, for those of you who know me well and are now thinking 'Yeah right, Lauren's never worn that much clothing in her LIFE,' I DO wear it in Denmark), and I am STILL COLD. Because of the wind.
For the first time in my life I wish I was fat (naturally after moving here I lost an unnecessary 8.5 lbs and am now the skinniest I've ever been), or owned a big huge shaggy dog (so he could periodically sit on me when I lose feeling in my arms and legs), or could grow a nice heavy-duty beard to keep my face warm, at the very least. But nooooo. I'm considering ordering one of those full-coverage arctic sleeping bags (with the hood), and just hopping around everywhere I need to go.
And if you think that would make me look silly, picture this: Here comes the short American who lives on the third floor, bundled to the nines like a big round thing that would probably roll if kicked, bravely venturing outside her front door into the horrid cold. Oh, nope, wait, a mere three feet from the door she stops, starts screaming RETREAT! RETREAT! and then runs back inside her building, full force, leaving her small child behind. This happens five, six more times that week, and then finally she disappears forever. She may have died up there on the third floor, and you'll never know.
... It's either that or I'm getting on the first bus I see, and I will stay on it forever or until it dies, whichever comes first.
Lucky Little Isaac hasn't got this problem. He's like his dad. He is his own, fully-functioning space heater (the one piece flight suit doesn't hurt, either). By the time we've walked a mile, he just starts peeling off layers because, get this, he doesn't need them. Some lady in the library the other day started yelling at me in Danish, and I turned around to see that my kid had been leaving articles of clothing behind him all the way through the courtyard and foyer, and well into the children's section - a hat here, a glove there, a shoe ... somewhere (where is that thing?). I suppose she was too polite to just approach me and say, "Hey lady, your kid is shedding."
Now, whenever we enter any place of business, we must immediately say, "Isaac, do not take off your clothing." ... And sometimes Tim will add "Or your mother will wear it herself."
That having been said, I am going into self-inflicted hibernation.
I will resurface in the spring, or sometime next July.
Other Blog Posts About Being Cold:
And yes, for anyone who asks,
I am still thinking of getting one of these.
Even if my family disowns me for it.
(And even if I can't quite figure out how to get it on.)
|(source for the what's-it-thingy)|