Letter to Winter

Dear Winter,

Whither art thou? Okay, sorry for opening with those words. They just seem to fit in with the idea of snow. Whither, Wither, Winter...get it? Sorry. I’ll stop it. (Silencing inner nerd.)

But seriously, where are you? Have you forsaken us this year after scaring the crap out of us last year and making us spend whatever money (and time) we didn’t have getting a generator for our newly bought house?

I mean, it’s bad enough that I’m having to dress down my post baby (read: post-Christmas) body, today I was even guilted into spring cleaning! I know, I know. It’s only January. There are still piles of pellets for our stove in our living room!

And all this after giving us every idea of being around during Christmas. So that the cookies went down easy, especially after the brandy and the honey and the pizza and the... well... you get the idea. After all, we were going to be snowed in for a while. I went into hibernation mode!

You know what I think, winter? I think this is your idea of a joke. I think you’re doing this to piss me off. I think you and my husband are in cahoots. He even went out and bought a fishing license for me. A freaking fishing license. In January! Nice try. I’m not buying it. No way am I going to clean the house, open the windows and let the sun shine in.

Oh wait, I already did that. Never mind. You win. Just show up for a while longer, please. Just until I lose the last ten pounds. Or until I get pregnant. So I won’t have to.

Thanks,
Purva.