Semicolon Ice Storm

My first class is tonight, but I won't be going. I also won't be visiting any public schools or small businesses. If I feel like selling my soul, I might go to WalMart...they don't mind battling the elements to save you a buck.

Oh, you're wondering why? Ice storm. Big One. Hail the size of...the dot at the top of a semicolon.

OK, OK, a little bigger than that. But as an Alaskan transplant in Texas, this seems a bit absurd. Last year when this happened, there were around 100 car accidents in an hour. So shutting down the city may seem silly, but I guess it's justified. And I must admit (don't laugh) I'm freezing my buns off.

I used to pride myself on my hardy, crusty Alaskan toughness. I'd go swimming the day the ice broke on the lake, and when the thermometer snuck anywhere above five below (got that?) I'd wear shorts and leave my leather jacket un-zipped. In the summer when the sun blazed and temperatures shot up to sixty-five, I'd longingly dream of a car with AC.

Then I moved to Texas.

The coat I wore to college every day in Minnesota, where the wind blew strong and cold enough to freeze mustard in a bottle, is no longer warm enough for me. When my house gets down to sixty-eight I either bundle myself in twelve layers of sweatshirts or turn up the thermostat. It's not unusual to see me in jeans in the fall, when it's around eighty-eight degrees.

I used to laugh at my friend from Brazil, who constantly complained about the St. Paul chill, while me and my arctic cohorts walked calmly to class wearing no hat or gloves. But now it's probably thirty degrees outside, I'm near a window in my office, my fingers are close to numb, my nose is cold and runny, and I think I'm going to go microwave my slippers.

So much for crusty.