It was a foolproof plan. “Winter, Schminter” I said
to myself. “That big baddie won’t get me for WEEKS yet.”

Itchy, layered clothes? Don’t need ‘em.
Icicle fingers and toes? No way.
Perpetually chapped lips? Right out.

The plan was simple and direct. It required no work except willpower. It involved nobody else. It was a perfect plan. Ready?

Okay. The plan had two parts:

  1. Do not turn on the heat in the apartment until after December 1.
  2. Do not open the box of sweaters and fuzzy tights until after December 1.

Yes. I, Dottie of comma dot comma, would hold back winter by sheer stubborness. Name it and claim it, baby.

So it was that I found myself in the midst of 20+ degree days, completely unwinterized. I still had mostly open-toed shoes! Of my two winter coats, one had no buttons and one was all ripped up inside. I found a right glove and a left glove, but they were trendy (if by “trendy” you mean “not remotely matching each other,” which I do. Because it is going to be a trend someday soon, since I have resolved to wear them all winter. I don’t have a history as a trend setter (brown cords with pink blotches all over them, anyone?) but it could happen. ).

I also turned on the heater. It smelled like burning dust.

DRAT! FOILED AGAIN!

But now it’s been hovering in the 60’s for a few days. Maybe my plan worked after all?