It's times like today'when the slush and salt have turned my blue jeans a hideous shade of brown and the icy air has frozen my nose to the zipper of my coat'that I take some time for personal introspection and I ask myself one very important question:
Can I still transfer to the University of Miami for the spring semester?
For three years now, I've greeted the Madison winter with the same response. Upon further review, I always end up staying ,though. Partly because I burn easily, but mostly because my fingers are too frostbitten to fill out Miami's online application.
And because I never leave, I turn my attention to staying warm, because if you think it's cold now, just wait'it gets worse. It really is a shame too, because staying warm used to be so easy.
Remember elementary school? The good old days when you had no choice what your wore to school in the winter. Your mom picked it, and you wore it. No arguments allowed.
Mom's usual ensemble consisted of a large (if not somewhat immobilizing) jacket that was usually accompanied by a matching pair of snow pants. The lucky kids consolidated these items into one rather formidable snowsuit. Formidable, not because of the warmth it provided, but due to the fact that such a suit was pretty much impossible to get into.
The outfit was rounded out with a really tight headband, a nice tall pair of boots, and some mittens that were probably attached to another article of clothing'often the other mitten.
Recess time probably took up half the day, not because there was nothing to learn, but rather because students required a half hour and at least three teachers each to get into their snow gear.
Yes, those were the days. But as we got older, things changed. With age came stupidity. For some reason, the coolest kids were the ones with the least amount of winter clothing. Some time in middle school, boots became nerdy. Snow pants were taboo. And one didn't dare wear mittens for fear of being ostracized.
I can remember riding to school with my dad one morning. As I sat with my bare hands pressed against the air vents, he asked me, 'Joe, if your hands are so cold, why don't you just borrow a pair of my gloves'?
'God, Dad. Get with it. Gloves are for losers,' I replied before forcing him to drop me off a block from school so nobody would see him.
But now that we're at college, we've recovered some of our sanity. We understand that no matter how poofy our jacket is, or how goofy our boots are (I'm talking about Uggs. Don't kid yourselves, ladies) it doesn't matter. Warmth is our only concern'??at least until the blood flow returns to our fingers. Then it's off to Miami!
