I live in the Midwest. It gets cold and snowy here. And apparently this winter, it’s getting cold and snowy in lots of unexpected places too. We call it winter. Others call it the end of the world.
I’m so tired of people talking, hearing, singing, texting, posting and praying about the weather. The way I see it, those that I see posting from their fancy iPhones or calling from their Bluetooth really don’t have much to complain about. I mean, not compared to people struggling to pay their heating bills or get food when pantries are closed. But that’s for another day; The day I talk about how people are so myopic they need to be reminded to be compassionate and grateful.
No, this missive today is about weather taunters. First, If I hear one more person at the grocery store smugly say “so much for global warming,” I’m going to personally ram Al Gore’s arm up their bung hole to remove their larynx. And THEN there are people that moved away from the Midwest to warmer climates. Why is there a need in social media or even via a birthday card through the good ole USPS, that people are compelled to gloat about their sunny weather– snapping pictures of their drinks on the pier, commenting on their sweaty hike at the park? Beach dwellers cannot fathom why someone would not want to live in an area with big spiders, waves or collapsing earth that swallows up houses, parades of silicon implants, fake spikey grass and fugitives hiding out in dirty motels or seaside trailer parks. But we exist. And many of us choose to stay in four seasons.
There is this classism element in their comments reminiscent of an aristocrat on the Titanic offering commentary on the elements of their steamer trunks to those of us staying below the deck, clothes packed in a potato sack.
“Natalie, while you’re shoveling snow, I’m doing this,” says a Facebook post with a photo of her sandy feet with the glistening ocean in the background. My response in my head: Sand spiders & melanoma, cool.
“Why I moved to L.A. #noblizzards #iamtoasty #chicksinbikinis365”. Attached is the temperature gauge in their cool car. Response in my head: Even if you were trapped in a lambo in 150-degree heat, chicks in bikinis wouldn’t save you, you douche.
I don’t say these things, aloud. Not yet. But now, the past week or so with the frigid temps sweeping the country, the taunters have become whiners. Now they have to find socks to wear because It’s 50 degrees. Cabin fever starts in on day 2. The liquor displays at all stores have been decimated. Gone are the stylized photos with filters. I hope they will survive.
On the other hand, we Midwesterners have hunkered down, amped up the fireplace, dug into our always ready supply of booze and have shipped the kids to the neighbors for a play date.
I gotta go, I need to instagram a pic of my fuzzy slippers in front of the fireplace, with my dog Sam sleeping peacefully nearby. Taunt this, whiners.
My wheel-chair bound mom & I had to venture out in the Northeast Ohio blizzard to get her to the doctor. Fun adventures involving a folding transport wheelchair, an 85-yr-old sight impaired stroke victim wearing a surgical mask to keep her coughing cooties from others & cold air out, tennis shoes and 2 feet of snow. Suffice it to say, it was Keystone Cops trying to get her in and out of the car mid thundering snow – much of which blew into the car. And the drive back home was slow, treacherous and involved a few whispered cuss words and quiet hyperventilating by me.
“Honey, I need to change my pants,” Mom said when we arrived home safe and sound. “Don’t get me wrong. It’s not because of your driving,” she assured me then with a dramatic pause, “I think I sat on a snow mound.”