An Open Letter to Old Man Winter
Dear Old Man Winter,
There’s no other way to say it: I hate you. You suck. I don’t mean to hurt your feelings. I know that you’re just doing your job. But your job makes me feel miserable.
I don’t like to feel cold and numbness in my extremities. I don’t like big heavy coats. I hate having to warm up my car. I hate scraping ice off of windows. I hate the uncertainty of dressing for the cold but then burning up once i get inside.
I hate cold weather. I hate snow. I hate the biting cold wind. I hate ice. I hate black ice.
I’m not saying that I want the extreme, sweltering temperatures of summer where it doesn’t feel good to be outside, but I don’t like the extreme, uncomfortable cold weather either.
Thankfully, I’ve been out of the worst reaches of the polar vortex, and I don’t get quite the level of cold nastiness that I’m accustomed to from growing up in the Midwest. I really shouldn’t complain, but I can’t help it. I want to Hulk Smash everything as I think of the impending doom of ice, snow, biting wind, and cold. And it’s all your fault, Old Man Winter.
I don’t understand why your fanboys and fangirls wig out at the fist snow. I find a tremendous amount of irony in the fact that you invoke warm feelings in people. I don’t get what all of the hype is.
Maybe I would like you if I could get the picturesque scenes and warm feelings without actually feeling cold or fearing the dangers of the season. But as it stands, Old Man Winter, I just can’t ride for you.
So I’ll sit here and be angry and bitter until spring comes.
The Armchair Commentary