I, the whirly girl, have single-handedly, and at great personal expense, saved humanity from the misery of a long, grim, distasteful winter. Maybe not all of humanity, but the Midwest, at least. Maybe the United States. Or possibly North America. We’ll conduct an assessment in the spring — sweet, sweet spring.
And how did I manage to pull off this life-affirming miracle? By buying a fancy new coat. It was the option of last resort. You see, the Farmer’s Almanac is predicting, in their own words, a ‘shivery and snowy’ season with colder than normal temperatures and above average precipitation — i.e., Armageddon. For my part of the country, anyway. When I heard that news, I panicked and defaulted to doomsday prepper mode.
Eventually, and against my better judgment, I plunked down a fat bundle of money I don’t have on outerwear I don’t really need to prepare for the harsh weather en route. And, hooboy, it’s a beauty! Sort of a bomber / expeditionary forces look. A rugged olive green jacket with a bright orange lining stuffed with 3 tons (or so) of down. An insulated fur-lined hood. Secret pockets. Toggles and buttons and bungee cords to batten down the hatches in windy blizzard-like conditions. The perfect antidote to an arctic winter.
Now that I’m armed against the cold, prepared as never before, it will do a quick detour to parts unknown. Just to spite me. That’s the type of relationship we have, winter and I. Today, for instance, is 77º. In late October. And I’m wearing a sloppy grin. Above shorts and a t-shirt. Crisis averted, folks.
No thanks necessary, it was my pleasure. Carry on.
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the whirly girl 
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