I love cold weather. I love winter. It may be a sign that I’m sick in the head, but I say, “I’m not hurting anyone, so let me be.” I know most people enjoy summer more. And that’s fine. There’s beauty in both seasons, and there are many things I enjoy about all seasons. It’s just that I start sweating as soon as it gets over eighty degrees Fahrenheit. But there’s more to it than that, I admit.

I hear most people talking about how excited they are when the weather starts warming up, and I hear them talking about the skimpy and revealing clothes they want to wear. I suppose they are excited to show off their bodies, but let’s be honest, most people don’t have anything worth showing off in that regard.

I, on the other hand, get excited when the weather grows colder. I love going outside in subzero weather when there’s a good, thick layer of snow on the ground. It’s even better when there’s some snow falling from the sky, too. I get excited when it’s cold enough to wear a fuzzy hat, thick gloves, thick socks, a soft scarf, fleece lined jeans, heavy boots, and a heavy coat. I love bundling up. I guess I enjoy showing off as well, but I like showing off my strength and stamina, my determination and resilience. I suppose I may not be as shallow as most people, so I don’t mind hiding the shallow stuff. My pride and self-respect run much deeper than my skin and muscles.

So while most people spend half of the year thinking about spending the other half of the year running around outside as naked as possible, I spend that half of the year enjoying being bundled up in the bright, white snow with a smile and frost on my face, and the other half of the year I tolerate disgusting, half-naked freaks running around looking absolutely ridiculous.