I don’t know when you’re reading this, but as of 5 am this morning it has been snowing. My workmate has just let me know that we are receiving about a 25 cm [I’m Canadian] dump of snow and sleet tomorrow and the thought of that sends a chill down my spine. I’m not one for Game of Thrones but winter is coming and I bet it’s going to be a bitch about it.
Spending four months bundled up like a waddling toddler to brave the bitter Montreal winter seriously blows. Wearing a giant jacket that could double as a feather down blanket, wrapping a meter of fabric around your neck, a poufy hat, giant gloves that make your palms sweat isn’t my idea of awesome. You can’t play on your phone, your eyes are constantly watering, and you can’t wear your glasses outside without fogging up like a Chevy at makeout point.
It’s hard out there for a fair-skinned curvy redhead, but I feel that after four years living in this wild city I’ve finally figured out the ropes of surviving the winter without looking like a freak of nature.
Seriously, if the temperature strays five degrees from room temperature things aren’t peachy keen. My skin cracks, itches, reddens and ultimately sheds like a rattlesnake. One of those things isn’t true, but I’ll keep it in for effect so you really feel bad for me. I’ve tried everything too: overly expensive Lush face creams that the overly touchy girls massaged into my cheeks while another rubbed my cuticles with some strange goo, fragrant hemp spray from a hippy girlfriend, straight up water and a bar of soap. Nothing seemed to work for me. At one point I even considered calling up a hypnotherapist to see if they could work their magic on my face, but apparently that’s for suckers.