It’s Winter! Let’s Get Naked!

I awoke this morning in my usual manner – there was a slight puddle of drool under my cheek, a side effect to the bite guard I now wear to bed to keep myself from grinding my teeth to tiny bean-like nubs. My hair was what could only be termed as “interesting”. Liza Bean Bitey (of the Minneapolis Biteys) had balanced herself on my head. Dolly G. Squeakers (formerly of the Humane Society Squeakers, aka Git-Down! Bad Kitty!) had draped herself over my legs.

The words “that’s a lot of kitties” flashed through my mind, followed closely by the thought, “Seems much cooler in the house this morning…”

I awoke, my friends, to snow.

The temperature has dropped dramatically.

Nothing good can come of this.

Do you live in a temperate zone? Are you familiar with the iciness of a woman’s hands and feet?

I will, some day, be one of those women wearing a sweater in August, I can already see that. It’s November 8th and my hands are ice-cold to the touch. I could creep up behind you and my fingers on the back of your neck alone would convince you that a supernatural experience is imminent. Surely nothing can be that cold and of this world.

I saw a special on public television a couple years ago that talked about the differences of men and women, beyond the obvious physical dissimilarities; and one of those variations was the way the sexes react, biologically, to cold.

Did you know that Nature will preserve the core temperature of a woman’s body – in case she’s pregnant – cutting off the heat supply to the arms and legs, while a man’s body remains the same temperature throughout?

This means that a man will lose his head much quicker through hypothermia than a woman. He will make poorer decisions more quickly because of the dissemination of heat. A woman’s hands and feet are slowly becoming dangerously cold, but her core temperature remains the same, while the man remains warm all over but begins to see things that are not there...

I remember little about the show other than that fact and the hypothermia experiment. A man and a woman in their underwear sat in what was essentially a walk-in refrigerator. Blue lips, large-muscle spasms, discomfort. If memory serves, it was probably less than a half-hour before the man started talking out of his head. Something about what the government doesn’t want you to know about tinfoil and microwaves. The woman simply looked, teeth chattering, into the camera and suggested that the guy was hallucinating and that maybe they should get a doctor to take a look at him…

The lesson here? I don’t know. Wear leggings, gloves and a hat, I suppose; and if you must go outdoors, avoid becoming lost during a blizzard. If you absolutely must become lost during a blizzard, be sure to run all decision-making past a sensible woman with cold hands.

Anyway, I’m way ahead of myself. This is, after all, just the start of the lovely winter season. Myself, I’m going to try to avoid sitting in my underwear in refrigerators with strange young men (unless, of course, it can’t be helped), and I suggest you do the same.

If you cannot avoid icy proximity to semi-naked men, I suggest you do as the Eskimos do – find shelter and get naked.

It’s the only way I can see anything good coming from it.