I live in the U.S. version of the North Pole otherwise known as New England.
New England is cute.
It likes to fuck with you when you complain about the weather.
In the summer is super fucking hot and humid.
Like you walk outside and you can't breath because outside as you know it has turned into a sauna.
So you bitch about how hot it is and how you can't wait for winter again.
Then you wake up one morning and BAM
You get 20 feet of snow and it's freezing.
Like literally freezing.
Your pipes burst because they are also sick of this shit and your walk to the car turns into a try out for the Olympic figure skating team.
You also can't wear cute boots.
I mean you can, but you have to also lug around TRANSITION boots.
Otherwise your cute boots will get covered in salt...
Because in New England whether we have 20 feet of snow or the sun is attempting to burn directly through your skin
we have mud.
There are however a few weeks during the year where the weather in New England is amazing.
If you blink, you will miss them.
You will also probably miss them if you get sick from the sudden changes in weather and end up in bed for those wonderful weeks like I usually do.
It's 29 days until spring.
Until I get another chance to live it up for those few weeks, before I can't breath outside and my inner thighs become melted together.
We have four distinct seasons here in New England.
Ice, Mud, Summer, Tourist.
I mean call me crazy but I wouldn't trade any of it.
Especially because Ice season gives way to one of my favorite past times.