When it’s so cold that the wind chills through my triple layers of clothing, and the icy slush seeps into the holes in my worn out sneakers, I can’t help but laugh. It is hard not to laugh like a crazy person on the street, especially since everyone around me has their heads down, ducking the wind. In their winter apparel, they all look like the Staypuft Marshmallow Man. I look like the Staypuft Marshmallow Man.
So I laugh, so that my face muscles do not freeze into a glowering, sulky death mask. If they ever found my frozen corpse in the snow drift near where I park to go to work (approximately thirty miles away, because I refuse to purchase a $200 parking pass), bundled in mismatched harlequin woolies and with ice-burned skin – at least I’ll have a smile on my face. That, my friends, is the requisite for an open casket!
It is also hard not to howl like a crazy person when I open my front door and find that someone has blocked the entryway with a solid wall of wood, for my fireplace. It makes me appreciate my insane best friends. Maybe it also makes the sheer idiocy of willfully continuing to inhabit a place without central heat, in Kansas, in DECEMBER, a little less painful!
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Cold weather makes me giggle as well
like uncontrollably,
I giggle and giggle and giggle.
I will have an open casket for sure
I giggle especially hard when I am running down
a cold street at midnight
to a pile of wood in the back of a pick-up truck
and then run back to a house, trying to be quite as
I creep on to a porch;
trying not to disturb the tenants.
That causes much giggling!
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