I woke up this morning suffering from a bout of seasonal depression. It’s like clockwork (haha, boo) every year about this time I become depressed because winter is a terrible time of year. They call it the “dog days of winter,” I think, but I like dogs so that should be changed to something else. How about the “Ebola-ridden skunk days of winter”? That’s better.
I hope global warming wipes this dumb season off of our planet. We’ve enjoyed the ocean and the beach on the current east coast for as long as I can remember. Isn’t it time for Indiana to get a turn? I’m not interested in a debate about this in my comments because the previous sentences are neither scientific nor opinion; they are jokes. Let’s move on, shall we?
Winter coats make you look fatter than you really are which isn’t fair. I’m allergic to goose down and most coat fabrics make a whooshing sound that I really could do without. People used to make fun of me because I wore the same red fleece all the time. I guess they wanted me to accessorize dumb jackets for a dumb season, which I hate and want to spend as little time dressing for as possible. Thank you. One coat is all I needed during the dregs of January. I chose red just in case some moron talked me into going skiing. The red would be easy for the search party to find wrapped around a pine tree or buried in an avalanche.
Skiing is so stupid. If the goal is to get to the bottom of the hill and that is where you start, then what in the hell am I going to go to the top for? Let’s go inside and have a drink. I think most people ski just to get a lift ticket stuck to their jacket which is a conversation starter with other boring jerks. “Hey, do you ski?” No, my Uncle did once. He was trying to get an autograph from Sonny Bono and I inherited this jacket after the rescue crew peeled it off of him.
My favorite part of this season is the illness. Don’t you dream of the days you’re stuck in bed, praying for death, blowing your nose 8,050 times and thinking to yourself, “at least the plague was quick”? I ordered a beer from a bartender a few weeks ago. She hacked a cough into her hands and then twisted off the beer cap and handed it to me. Then…prepare yourself…then she got mad at me for requesting she hand me another beer sans the viral particles that flew out of her fat gullet. I didn’t think that was unreasonable. She said, “I’m not sick, it’s just a cough.” I’m no doctor, but I don’t think our bodies make a habit of forcefully hurling vitamins and sunshine out of our lungs so I think I’ll have a different beer.
The food in the wintertime is horrendous. Lentils are in soups galore. People pretend that they love butternut squash and then dump five quarts of cream and a pound of butter in with them. Nothing hides vileness like cream and butter. One thing I hate about American cuisine is it is barely seasonal. Slobs demand mealy tomatoes on their five-dollar-foot-long subs all year ‘round. No exceptions. I enjoy watermelon but I don’t need to eat tasteless, white chunks of it in February, Publix. I do love Thanksgiving and Christmas dinners but that ruins this narrative so I’m leaving that out.
My biggest problem with winter is that people willingly stay where it is horrible. I’m looking at you, Minnesota. Some people have to warm their cars up so they will start in the cold. I would need a heater for my car battery only one time. Then I would load whatever I could into it and hightail my ass south faster than you would cancel a Malaysian Air flight reservation. I like the old days approach to harsh winter: either die or get the hell out of there. So I did and now I live in Charleston. It is 60 degrees today. Imagine how I would feel if it was actually cold?