Adapted

It doesn’t seem all that weird to me that the meteorologist on the local news is hammering a nail into a piece of wood with a banana to demonstrate how cold it is.

I don’t really care if I look like I’m waiting for Noah to pick me up with my boots and rolled-up jeans. As along as I keep my pants from getting wet and salty…

My lunch breaks include a trip to my car, just to let her run for five minutes, so that she’ll start again when I want to go home.

I don’t think it’s all that crazy that I may have to wait a day or two to get into my mailbox because it’s frozen shut.

I try for three or four minutes to get into a car that I think is mine before I realize that it’s actually a blue corolla not a black prism…I just can’t tell because all cars are dirty gray from snow and salt.

I don’t wear mittens when it’s 17 degrees out because that is warm! I mean it’s 40 degrees warmer than it could be!

Shoveling is sometimes calculated into my day’s exercise.

I don’t care if my scarf doesn’t match my coat and my coat doesn’t match my boots and my boots are just ugly. Whatever’s warmest.

I don two pairs of tights when I wear a skirt to work. That’s normal.

I decide nonchalantly that I guess I’ll go to the next gas station to fill my car up since this one’s gas lines are frozen. No biggy.

Note: I’m not complaining about Minnesota’s winter, having chosen to move from San Diego. I’m just sayin’…I’ve adapted.