how i survived the cold

It is cold, it is cold. I shall wear the bottom of my trousers rolled into my snow boots.

{Name the poem I'm paraphrasing. Don't you love the random pop quizzes I give? Hint: the answer to this one has nothing to do with Jane Austen or Mary Tyler Moore or a musical, answers that frequently make their appearance in my pop quizzes.}

Chicagoland, after an epic blizzard last week, has now dropped to epic lows. Getting out of bed on days when the high is 2 takes guts and determination and a space heater right next to your bed.

But yesterday, I decided to show the cold that I was not afraid of it.

I am a Midwesterner; I am prepared for adversity. My ancestors lived through this cold in a farm house with no central heating and single-pane windows, possibly burning candles made from whale fat in order to be able to read past 4 in the afternoon.

It's in my genes to overcome the weather, and I also like to think that it's my genes to be inspired by the weather and to appreciate the opportunity to be out in the weather, even when the snot is freezing in my nose.

I am not afraid of the cold, and yesterday, I wore a skirt to prove it. A sensible wool winter skirt—lest you think I was kicking caution to the wind—with tights and knee-high boots. But still: a skirt.

Windchills of 20 below?

2 feet of snow on the ground?

You do not scare me, and I will still look cute. Despite the fact that the weather makes me want to always have on 7 layers of flannel pants and a hooded sweatshirt, I wore a skirt yesterday in order to put an extra little kick in my step.

It worked.

Take that, weather.