Do you know that song? “Baby, It’s Cold Outside”? There are a ton of versions from Dean Martin to Willy Nelson. I have a favorite or two. You?
Anyway, it’s cold outside. As you may know, I hate being cold and I’m cold anytime the temperature drops below 70 degrees, so that means I’m cold just about every minute of every day all year long and I don’t live in Florida. Even as I write this I’m wrapped in a scarf, socks and slippers on my feet and my old friend the space heater has just ended its long life. We’ve been together 13 years and it picks today to leave me in the cold. Really?
My son, now 13, likes to wear shorts all the time. His blood must roar through his veins like the rapids. Or maybe it’s the speed of his metabolism, because Lord knows mine runs like it’s in the last leg of the marathon. But, honestly, I get it. He’s young and full of life. It makes sense that he’s warm and wants his legs exposed. Or maybe there’s a young lady at school that likes his socks. I don’t want to know. Really.
So, what’s up with my grandmother? Nan also likes to show off her legs in the cold. I saw her yesterday in her short skirt. Yes, my 87 year old grandmother wears skirts shorter than I do! I told you being in my Italian family usually equates with unusual. We try not to hold it against one another. But there she is with her legs bare except for the support hose and says, “Boy, I’m cold.” You think? Let me add she weighs about 87 pounds so there’s no meat on the bones to keep her warm. I told her she was going to have to try something new: wear pants. Pants is a bad word to my grandmother. I don’t think she’s owned a pair in 40 years. Really.