October 30, 2011: I have begun wearing socks regularly. While that may seem hardly worth mentioning, I assure you that the donning of socks is huge. Going barefoot is how I defy winter. Going barefoot is my feet saying “hell no” to dampness and cold and a mild case of frostbite- just one and it involved Teva sandals, Jack Daniels and poor judgement.
I have also readied the house for winter ice cream consumption: Redi-Whip whipped cream, sprinkles, maraschino cherries and stretchy pants.
During the months of December, January and February, I eat more ice cream than my entire family does in June, July and August; eating ice cream in the dead of winter is my gustatory machismo saying “hell yeah” to my stomach.
To me, having a hot fudge sundae when it’s really cold out says: “I’m one badass, winter-loving mother.” (With lots of body fat.) That, and “I’m too scared to get a tattoo.”
To my husband, eating ice cream when it’s cold out says that I am emotionally eating (again) and that the approaching holidays are fraught with way too much extended family time and expenses and that, maybe, he should not listen when, come December, I will tell him that the only things I want for Christmas are some high quality chocolate-sea salt-caramels.
Instead, his brain will lead him to think that if he gets the caramels, he will inevitably face a Spring filled with radical dieting and “I can’t wear a bathing suit” lamentations and so, he will consider that what I truly need this Christmas are some high quality chocolate-colored wool socks. He should not think.
Men can be so practical. (Really?) And wool socks are certainly great. But my husband knows.
He knows that no matter how frequently I wore the socks, or how lavishly I praised the chill-repelling qualities of the socks, he knows that from the moment he gave me the socks on, I would, on occasion, contemplate using the socks to suffocate him while he slept because he failed to get the chocolate-sea salt-caramels.
He knows that given the right circumstances- full moon, hormonal imbalance, because it’s Tuesday (or Wednesday, or Thursday, or Friday, etc.), he knows that I would kill him and then motor into town for a scoop or two.
And so I am expecting some fabulous candy this holiday season.
October 30, 2011: it’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas.
Fresh Air and Sarcasm 
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