Baby, it's cold outside
Yeah, so it's officially cold. I've heard quite a bit of wonking lately, mostly from fellow single women concerned about spending the winter alone. That's crap. We, the happily unattached ladies in da house, have the clear advantage this season. I created the following list for you non-believers...
Best Things About Being a Single Girl When it's Cold Outside:
- Flannel Winnie the Pooh jammies, ancient sweatshirt with toothpaste stain on front, and socks in bed: totally acceptable.
- No need for razors and shave gel. Money saved goes toward new sweaters.
- Boobs look fucking spectacular in sweaters. (not sure how this is relevant to singlehood, but it is a solid fact nonetheless.)
- No one around to say, "Don't you have enough sweaters?" (As if that's possible. Psssh.)
- Cats under covers: totally acceptable.
- Never having to say, "They're hard because I'm cold, not because I want you. Stop touching them. Ow! Asshole!"
- Knowledge of winter flab accrual is ours, and ours alone.
- Masturbation = the ultimate handwarmer.
- Bed warmed by electric blanket, rather than purposely executed boyfarts (or other-girlfarts, as the case may be. All of this applies equally to my lebanese sisters.)
- Careful studying of and multiple changes to scarf-hat-coat-handbag ensemble prior to leaving apartment = totally acceptable.
- Vibrator never, ever puts his/her cold feet on you for his/her own amusement.
Feel free to contribute relevant items as you see fit.
And yes, I forgive you for doubting me.
posted by Helen the Felon at 3:39 PM
9 Comments:
I can't tell you how many times I've said that to my hubby. Never having to say, "They're hard because I'm cold, not because I want you. Stop touching them. Ow! Asshole!"
I've got another one for ya. Waking up at 3 in the morning frozen solid because hubs has stolen ALL the covers!
Oooooh, that's a good one.
Amen sister!
As a high school sophomore in the seminary, I sat in an English grammar class in which we each tackled sentences offered up by the textbook as some sort of challenge.
It was my turn. I read aloud the following: "Alice's sweater shrunk."
Later, in the hallway, the boy who sat next to me in class told me that when I had said those words he had gotten an erection. I didn't know what to make of that. I still don't. His legs were growing faster than the rest of his body. He was coltish. His off-white chinos suddenly too short, too tight.
Very evocative, Farmboy T.
I don't understand straight boys either.
Believe me Michael, the temptation to run off to Brazil is growing by the second. Seriously.
Hi Helen - I loved that blog a few months ago when you spoke of Yoga Bowel Movements ( you know, with your hands held straight up high over your head!) - That was a special and sophisticated blog moment - My invisible friend told me that people (especial gender confused chicks with acne on their hearts and hairy ankles) who blog and devote so much of their lives to the internet are very strange and creepy people - Ok, I am going over to your cousin's for dinner tonight, Fran told me to let you know she is making mac and cheese, mmmm your favorite! It's cold now so I better strap on my jacket nice and straight! - Call me tonight please and remind me to take my pills - Love, Bill
Because not only was the shit bag a non-recovered meth addict: he was a GAWD DAMN FURNACE. Hooray for our cold, brittle, poorly circulating heart and her ten phalangelical brothers that can barely move from November to April let alone squeeze someone tight in the throes of tepid passion! We're allowed to keep the window closed at night this winter.
Hoo. Fucking. Ray.
Sweaters DO like nice over breasts. I'm wearing a sweater today and I keep looking down to check myself out.
I just did it again. :)
I also like being able to put my fluffiest comforter on the bed without someone complaining he's too hot. :-)
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