Prick-Waving Dick Fight

It’s really cold today. I absolutely hate the cold.

I like snow, however. More accurately, I love how everything looks with the snow, before everything has been plowed and shovelled and sanded. When I was small, I’d guess around 8 or so, I remember being told not to walk in the snow. “Stay on the path, or the driveway, out the sidewalk,” my mother and grandmother would warn me. “Don’t walk across the snow, Grandpa doesn’t like footprints in it.” Back then, I didn’t understand. I understand now.

On the other hand, the cold is awful. I’m sitting in my car before work and the dashboard display is reading 3°F right now. I think I’ve been here for about five minutes and already all the heat has left the interior of the car. I’m vaguely reminded of waiting for the bus in high school. We’d all stand at the corner of Bunker and Morse and we’d be fucking freezing. Of course, being a high-school girl of the mature age of 15 and therefore being all-knowing as well as not wanting to mess up my enormous hair, I didn’t wear a hat. No, we all were more content to freeze, and bitch about freezing. Hell, sometimes you’d be lucky to catch us wearing appropriate footwear, let alone hats and gloves and the likes.

Teenagers are idiots.

Being dumbass teens, my BFF Andrea and I somehow thought that getting ourselves worked up would keep up warm, and our idiot teenager logic told us the best way to do that was swearing. We would recite long routines on some of the George Carlin albums we snatched from someone in her family. Words you can’t say on TV, a 300-something word list of dirty words… And “prick-waving dick fight“.

Did we get warm? Probably not.

But it’s days like this that I wish it did.