if my lips weren't frozen, i'd bitch about the cold.

What, dare I ask, have we done to deserve this? Is it because the Red Sox finally won the world series? Or because "W" was re-inaugurated? Why, WHY has hell--and the rest of the Northeast--frozen over??

This morning, like every morning this week, I opened my eyes and peered out over the giant down comforter under which I snuggled. I could see sunlight, and hear the hiss of my radiator, but I knew that nothing good was waiting for me outside the safety of my apartment...or for that matter, my bed.

I showered and flipped on the TV to get the current temperature. I prayed that it would at LEAST be double digits. And there, beside my friend Pat Kiernan's head, it read "9°." Damn. Yesterday had been a ripe, blistering 25° and it truly felt like a heatwave. At lunch time, the temperature had sky-rocketed to 30° so I went out without my hat, which turned out to be a big, bitter mistake for my poor little ears. I would not make that mistake again today.

I bundled up in my thickest pants, six layers of shirts and sweaters, warm socks, giant boots that forbade my feet to come in contact with the frozen ground. I put on my big jacket, my hat pulled down to my eyes, my scarf wrapped around my head covering my neck and face up to--and including--my nose. I added my protective eyewear (read: sunglasses) to finalize the no-exposed-flesh routine, and then I grabbed my keys, metrocard, and mittens, and headed out the door.

The cold chomped through my 26 layers like a swarm of arctic piranhas. My eyes watered and my nose ran as I speed-walked up the hill to the subway. I breathed warm, sighful breaths into my scarf, which naturally fogged up my sunglasses, causing me to look like an idiot to other passers-by. But, their heads were wrapped in scarves and hats too, so they probably couldn't see me.

The subway entrance ahead was my salvation. I bolted down the stairs, tearing my hand free of a mitten to get (and use) my metrocard. I went downstairs to the platform, where it is almost as cold as outside do to the open grates from the sidewalks above. I was thankful that it was ONLY cold, and not snowing on the platform like it was earlier in the week.

The train came, and to my very big surprise, there were seats available. I cosied in between two grown men, and for once, appreciated the physical closeness of complete strangers. Even though we all had our shoulders curled in and hands on our laps, I felt warmer just being wedged in. And even though I'd managed to align myself in just that wrong way that causes my bra strap clip with the back of the seat, causing the little metal fasteners to grind into my spinal column, the pain was worth it--I was warm.

When I got to work, my favorite cube neighbor had whipped up some hot chocolate that was waiting for me. I poured a splash into a mug, then hissed in about a cup and a half of whipped cream. As I oohed and aahed over the warm liquid delight in front of me, someone said "I thought you were from Boston. Shouldn't you be used to this weather?"

I sipped my cocoa, and said with my sweetest "you're lucky it's friday" smile, "People seem to confuse my being USED to this weather with my actually ENJOYING it. Sure, I KNOW the cold. But that doesn't mean I want to walk around in it. And sure, I KNOW the snow, but that sure as shit doesn't mean I want to shovel it!"

That's when I realized...I don't have to. No more scraping 3 inches of ice off my windshield 4 times a day. No more digging out my car and my idiot carnie neighbors' cars just so I could clear a path to slide down the driveway backwards into traffic. No bitching about idiot SUV drivers on 128 who stopped fast and caused a rooftop of snow to cover their entire windshield, causing panic and a multi-car pileup. No more fighting with the postman over mail non-delivery because our front steps were too icy. Nope--none of it. My biggest concern is making sure I have both mittens and a good pair of boots. (And maybe some strangers to cuddle with on the train.)