Begrudgingly, unwillingly, and often with a little despair, I suit up and don my warm hat, my glove/mitten hybrids, a warm scarf and my winter coat and with one last deep breath, I step outside.
Sometimes I get a little self-conscious walking around campus with my numerous layers. Mind you, I'm very content as every part of my body is pleasantly warm and yet, I see people walking around with shorts and a light jacket. What must they think when they see me, wearing every possible form of winter clothing possible, and probably still shivering a little. In reality, no one I pass could care less about how many layers I'm wearing. And yet, I can't stop myself from imagining what they're thinking.
- "Yeesh, overdramatic much? It's really not that cold out here."
- "Man up, little girl. Weakling."
- "Are you for real right now? Really? Really?"
I am not ashamed of my love of warmth. I think it all began with one of my best friends, Megan, who would blast her space heater in her room when we would spend hours pretending to study french vocabulary or memorizing responses to essays for AP US History. It was just so sweltering in there. I loved it.
I love running home in the snow from church on Sundays and sprinting upstairs, shrieking all the way, and leaping underneath my comforters. I love the feeling of hot chocolate as it winds its way through my various intestinal passageways to rest in my stomach. I love curling up on my couch, wrapped in 3 different blankets, perfectly content as I read over a semester's worth of notes for Biology.