A man with a strong submissive and kinky side. I write (in the loosest sense of the word), podcast and socialize in New York City
I’ve always liked the cold weather more than the hot.
I’ll take ten above over a hundred above any day.
I like how it makes me appreciate the warm buildings even more, how it makes me wish I were cuddling, how it reminds me of all things warm.
Coffee tastes and feels better, a beer buzz feels better,
It reminds me of waking up early to feed the cattle and pick the eggs before the school bus came to pick me up. How working harder made me feel warmer.
It reminds me that, when I was a young boy on a farm, I wasn’t so stupid as to wear Converse All Stars out while doing chores.
It also makes one appreciate dry socks.
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Ah, those pesky converses! Not designed for wet winter work…
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It’s taken me years and years of living in the Northeast, uprooted rather suddenly as a toddler from Northern California, but I understand exactly what you mean. There’s this thing that happens in the cold when your body rises up to meet the challenges of winter. It makes you vital.
I remember riding the train to visit an arts-oriented high school in Natick, MA, and realizing this. I suppose it was at that moment that I accepted my fate as a Yankee.
Ultimately, my early childhood experiences and family ties in NoCal coupled with my long residence in the Northeast have left me with bicoastal disorder. But it’s a manageable condition.
I do have to say, though, that after a few winters in Boston I no longer have any respect for candy-assed New Yorkers and their complaints about the cold. Especially those of you who live within walking distance of the best and most frequently running public transit system in the United States.
See, up here in Boston we know how to dress for the weather.
Of course, you do look awfully cute in those Chucks.
I always wanted a pair of those socks with the batteries.
I’m a little jealous. I miss snow.