For what might be the first time in my life that did not involve an armed robbery, I wished tonight that I owned a ski mask. We got a little snow tonight -- about an inch, pretty much all at once, which made the drive home interesting, as the "all at once" coincided with when I was driving home -- but that isn't the real story. The low tonight is supposed to be about 7 degrees. Right now, it is about 13 degrees (we're talking Fahrenheit here, people), but the wind chill is down to -7, because it is really windy. And I just got back from walking a dog who apparently thought it was too cold to drop the deuce.
For 30 minutes, we walked the neighborhood. He finally did the deed when I was probably minutes away from going full Robert Scott and dying in a snow drift (look it up, people). The main problem was that, while I had a great hat on that kept my head warm, and a nice scarf that kept my neck warm, and a bazillion layers that kept my upper body warm, and I don't give a fuck about my legs because I once went through two of the worst winters in 100 years in Blacksburg, Va., wearing shorts and so I know they can take it (different story, people, focus, can we?) my face was exposed. This turned out to be a serious issue.
No lie, I thought I was going to get frostbite on my cheeks. Having once gotten frostbite on my feet while riding in the back of a pickup truck driving from Needles, Calif., to Kingman, Ariz., I knew that frostbite is one of the most painful things around. Imagine my pleasure when I got home, frost-bite free. My face was cold. It was not a happy time.
But I'm OK now. That doesn't mean I won't buy a ski mask tomorrow.