Sunday, Jan. 17, 2010

Frigid temps so not our thing

Here in the South, we don't really do cold.

Frankly, cold weather is unseemly. We have no desire to see it up close and personal. We feel dizzy and a little nauseous when we watch the nightly news lately and see all those bundled-up Atlanta residents navigating waist-high snow drifts. Truthfully, the only time Southerners like layers is when they're found in the ruffled tulle of our wedding gowns.

If we wanted weather like this, we would move to Minnesota, which even native son Garrison Keillor describes as "a state where people's tongues are routinely frozen to metal objects."

Until this month, we haven't been this cold, well, ever. Last week, the local TV weatherman announced that it would be 17 degrees the next day. I want my mommie.

Interestingly, this wretched cold has brought out a great deal of swagger from the many transplants who have moved here to the Carolina coast. They're amused, and a little disdainful of how we Southerners are reacting to this late unpleasantness.

"You call this cold? Ha! When we lived in Buffalo, winters were so cold the flashers would stop women and show them a picture of themselves naked. Fuhgedaboutit."

To hear them tell it, these transplants from colder states never took their babies out in strollers; they simply balanced them on their tiny feet "March of the Penguins"-style and went about their errands.

There's great competition among the transplants. There was no mistaking the braggy tone of one newcomer who said that back home in North Dakota, he put his cat outside just for a few minutes and it froze to death in mid-Meow right there at the front door. "Yah, sure; it froze to death right dere, you betcha."

And of course there was much hee-hawing by all the newcomers when our local schools delayed opening for two hours "on account of it being real cold."

I don't see anything funny about that. We weren't meant to endure this sort of weather. We Southerners are gentle creatures who look best in sun-dresses and skin that is dewy with humidity. I will never again complain about a brutal August heat. It was 59 degrees in my living room this morning and I made coffee while wearing gloves.

Don't get me wrong: My heating system is fairly new and working fine; it's just utterly depressed by such ridiculous expectations. So are we all. We are sleeping in--may God have mercy on our souls--sweat pants.

Meanwhile, as far South as Orlando there were reports of snow flurries.

At Disney World, it's rumored that even Winnie the Pooh was finally contemplating putting on some pants. And that, my hons, is surely a sign of the end times.