They always make frolicking in the snow look like such fun. People who have never been in snow romanticize it. A good friend does not let another friend erroneously romanticize snow. They just don’t.
I have a friend in Australia who wants to go to Canada because she loves the winter fashions. She gushes when she talks about plaids and the beautiful fur coats. I would slap her but that is not allowed.
I so want to take her to Canada and drop her off in the mountains for an hour … like when it is 40 below and the deer and the antelope are huddled together begging the hunters to shoot them and take them inside and cook them over the open fire.
I want to see her try to toss her static light bulb hair and make duck lips at her phone while trying to snap pictures with fingers that are curled into a claw, frozen stiff with the tips turning black from frost bite. I want her to try to do that when flesh freezes in a fraction of a nano second and watch her duck lips break off and shatter when they hit the icy ground beneath her feet. I want to hear her call for her mommy when she has to pee and she realizes it will take her an hour to get all those clothes off her and that when she does, unless she can be in a fraction of that nano second before her flesh freezes, she will die naked on a frozen lonely mountain and no-one will find her until the spring thaw. I want her to consider the alternative to just pee in her snow pants and possibly be stabbed to death in her long johns from the shards of pee ice.
I am not a nice person.
Some people really annoy me when they gush on and on about how magical it could be when I am sitting right there in front of them with my missing fingers and duck lips, a living testament to the romantic nature of snow.