One of the reasons I like living in Georgia is the weather. Not the psycho, out of place, thank you very much global warming, kind of weather. (Not that global warming isn’t of course a hoax, perpetrated by the Freemasons, in collusion with the United Federation Of Doll Clubs, and masterminded by the evil geniuses at SurfWear Hawaii.) I for one like the fact that it almost never snows in Atlanta. I’m OK with not having to dress for the Arctic Tundra just to leave the house. Which brings me to my problem. This year it’s been so cold in the southland that I have had to dress like it’s the planet Hoth, just to get to my car.
But let’s say you aren’t just going to hang out in your car all day. Not that that’s not a killer time! Let’s assume you have another destination in mind. Let’s say you are meeting some friends to talk trash and drink rotten malted barley. Sometimes it’s a little cumbersome to have that thermal bodysuit with you all night, in a well heated pub. You end up taking half of your layers off, just so you don’t look like you’ve just taken a Bikram Yoga class. I’m talking about sweat people.
So, what do you do? Leave your hideous oversized winter coat in the car and run through the Icelandic desert to warm up inside, or take a pile of clothes and a propane torch with you to insure you don’t become a human popsicle on your way to base camp? This is no doubt, one of those age-old dilemmas that have plagued mankind since Time Immemorial. Or at least since Jesus invented the furnace. Some of his best work if you ask me.
I fully believe it’s a question that can’t be answered, like “what is dark matter,” or “where does dental floss come from.” We’ll just have to hold out and do our best until the Earth gets nice and toasty. Which, now that I think about it, might answer another of man’s gnawing questions… “why are we here?” God needed central heating. And now that we’ve provided that much needed service, we’re just taking up space that could be a waterpark for angels.
I’m ready for spring.