The thing is, in the realm of physical discomforts, being cold is my miserablest. (I made that a word; don't argue.) I'd rather be hungry or tired or tired-and-hungry -- but cold is intolerable to me. As in, I can't tolerate it. I don't accept it.
The upper campus of the girls' school closed because the pipes have burst. Mister G's preschool closed early because the heat system couldn't maintain a state-mandated temperature minimum. This polar vortex is no joke.
But the good thing about weather is it changes and we should see above-average temperatures by the weekend. I hold on to that, telling my toes not to fall off before Friday. Above-average winter days are my very favorite; they feel balmy, gifted. And I soak in them, urging my extremities to revel in full sensation, because all too soon summer comes and I will have to complain to you about everyone else's over-enthusiastic air conditioning.
I really just wanted to type 'polar vortex.' It's a phrase that my posterity can't lack a minute longer.