January Is The Month That Cares

Looky here, Memphis. This was not our arrangement. I offered you my life, livelihood, and first-and-second born children, and in return, you promised that the average January high would be 48.6 degrees. That’s almost 49, which is practically 50. Where I come from, that’s shorts weather.

So what have you been trying to pull, with the snow and the ice and the mothertrucking windchill? The only windchill I should feel in Memphis is the goosebump-raising blast of air conditioning as I walk into Macy’s in July. Nowhere in our agreement was it specified that I’d require a hat while driving, and you certainly didn’t include any verbiage about my car sliding uncontrollably into gaggles of children. I’ve navigated the winter streets of Minnesota and Chicago and never had a life-threatening incident with black ice. I did not sign up to have one in front of a Memphis grade school!

I know times are hard for everyone right now, and there’s a lot of thermostat-lowering going on, but let’s be reasonable here. I can’t just put on a sweater and soldier on. Because sweaters make me look lumpy, and if I wanted to look lumpy, I’d be waddling around up north in a down parka. And, blog forbid, socks. You never told me I’d have to wear socks! These boots weren’t made for snow-walking, and this scarf is purely decorative.

So let’s get one thing straight. If I’m going to put up with the crime and corruption and questionable hairstyle decisions you surround me with, you’re going to live up to your end of the bargain and allow me to endure those indignities in comfort. Got it?

I’m sorry, what’s that you say? High today of 51? Predicted high tomorrow of 57? Oh, darlin. I just can’t stay mad at you.