Image by Kseniya Lapteva.
To my fellow Americans who moved South because you didn’t like winter: reality is coming.
The cold chilled your bones, I get it. You were sick of longjohns unwashed that became stinking fart sacks. The gray skies and long dark of the North hurt your fragile hearts, Vivaldi’s “Four Seasons” was snobbery, and chopping wood and toughing out the warren of freezes and thaws and snow and rain and fog – no, it was all too much.
You wanted to be diapered for eternal summer sun...
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