Baby, It’s Cold Outside.
I
woke up this morning (after a Saturday of pure laziness, minus actually getting my hair detangled and mixing up hopefully the perfect leave-in conditioner) to cold. Bitter cold. My thermometer says some 63 F, but that’s BS. I still haven’t received the official ok from my landlords to utilize the heat. Something bout it has to be checked each winter, for safety or some shit. I’m not trying to hear that. I’ve got on two pairs of socks, two shirts, and the warmest pajama pants I can find, and it is cold all up and through here. I thought hot air rises, but that doesn’t seem to be the case in this second floor apartment. If the laws of physics are true and that is not the case, I’d hate to be in the basement.
Yes, if you live north of I-20, this is the time of year for temperature shock. What is temperature shock, you say?
temperature shock (TEM’-per-uh’-cher shok)’: 1. waking up on a fall morning and experience the first hint of winter cold for the first time; 2. hell; 3. feels kind of like Bronson Pinchot’s crazy ass being chased down by The Langoliers combined with how McMurphy (Jack Nicholson) feels as he is choking Nurse Ratched.
I woke up this morning, and my ass was in temperature shock!
The typical reaction to temperature shock? I give you the Florida Evans expletive exclamation:
Don’t front. You know you do it, too.
Soon your only comfort will be tights, the seat warmers in your car, and some Matrix-esque winter coat.
Consider yourself forewarned.
I’m down in North Carolina so this is funny to me since I don’t have to deal with it anymore. It’s November and I still haven’t worn a coat, jacket, hell, not even a sweater yet. But being from Buffalo, I’ll never forget the many instances of temperature shock that I’ve experienced over the years.
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