Why living at the beach makes it tough to find Yuletide Cheer
(Sidenote – Before I begin my story, I just had to share: right now, two of my coworkers, men in their late-50s, are talking about their very personal experiences with online dating. Right across the hall from me. Loudly. Ew.)
On Sunday, Adam went to play golf with Brent, and I went shopping. ( I know. I cringed at that sentence too. I promise we’re not always so OC.) Anyways, the mall is all pretty for Christmas, and seeing as it was a foggy 68 degrees, I thought a fuzzy vest and boots was in order as I bundled out the door, armed with coupons and oodles of Christmas Spirit.
It was already sunny by the time I reached the mall, and by the second store, I was starting to feel sweat lightly dot my forehead. By store three I was trying to recall How To Tell If It’s Heatstroke vs. good old-fashioned Dress For The Weather, You Dummy.
The only thing that made me more sad than my very hot Yuletide shopping experience was the desperate attempts on the side of the mall to make us think that it was really Winter-y. Unfortunately, you can’t paint enough snowflakes on your windows to compete with the sweat on our noses, Consumerism.
Of course, as I write this, it’s quite foggy and gray out, a surprisingly brisk 55 degrees, and I just ate soup for lunch and used the heater in Rocky and wished our bosses understood the warm-air concept; plus, I’m wearing a puffy down vest and feeling quite Holly Jolly.
So maybe I just had to wait until December for my frosty nose and glad tidings. At any rate, Yuletide Cheer, thanks for stopping by.