An old wive’s tale has proved true. I made a face for too long and now it’s frozen. It has frozen into a teeth-gritting, lip puckering frown and it’s not my fault. I have been gasping and tensing for almost four months now every time I step into the frozen enclave called a shower, sit down on the iced over commode, or run to the garage to throw a trash bag in the barrel before my nose hairs freeze.
Getting the mail is hazardous for my lungs and makes me have to pee.
Getting gas for the car makes me want to swear at the wind tunnel where all gas stations seem to be located this time of year and this also makes me have to pee.
I buy coffee to keep my hands warm.
I wear scarves over scarves.
I am a salt lick.
Everything… my car, my boots, my coat, my nice black pants, my kitchen floor… all covered in layers of salt.
I’ve got on so many layers I don’t know what’s underwear or outerwear.
I wear socks 24/7 .
There are tiny lint balls permanently embedded in my heels.
I no longer walk normally.
Instead, I walk gingerly; which takes great effort, by the way. To navigate a driveway that has ice pockets, ice ruts, snow covered ice, ice banks, icicle daggers, icicle swords and icicle javelins takes time and the concentration of a tightrope artist, which is why I instinctively spread my arms wide every time I leave the house. Or walk in a parking lot. Heaven forbid if I’m standing too close to someone.
I’ve lost the use of my neck. I think it’s because my shoulders have risen up around it in an effort to keep warm and therefore I can’t really turn from side to side since my chin has dropped again, due to the frozen frowny thing that’s going on with my face.
In the morning before school, I want to hurl scrambled eggs at the weather man, even Al Roker, who seems like a really nice guy. I just can’t take any more catastrophic, historic, unprecedented Snowmaggedon forecasts.
I don’t have time for a weather apocalypse.
I want my skin back. I want my lips back. I want my warm toilet seat back.
I’ve got to believe Spring is right around the corner. The farm store down the road thinks so. They’re advertising maple sugaring supplies on sale, so that’s got to mean something, right? Don’t they have an in with the Farmer’s Almanac or something?
Still, another snowstorm is forecast the day before Valentine’s Day and then we’re right back in the Arctic freeze, or so claim those guys on TV who like to say things like “doppler” and “computer models” and “historic.”
Looks like I will be hunched, layered and Vaselined for another few days. The good thing is there will probably be chocolate in the house for Valentine’s. I just hope the person surprising me with the said chocolate will have the presence of mind to keep it near the pellet stove lest it freezes and I chip a tooth. I don’t have a layer, or a sock, or Vaseline for that.