On becoming a Weather Wimp
By PenPaperPad on August 22, 2013
I live on the gorgeous island of O'ahu in Hawai'i. Land of Spam musubi and rainbows. I followed my boyfriend here (long story) going on three years ago. The weather doesn't change a whole lot. That's probably why it's such a destination location. Generally, there's sunshine, occassionally cloud coverage and it rains more in the Winter. Still on my part of the island, it doesn't rain all that much. Temperatures stay around 80 degrees plus or minus like seven.
If it slips to 70 degrees, I'm ready for a parka. Right now it's a blistering 88 degrees, and I may in fact melt into my chair. I'm such a weather wimp now, my mother who is knocking on 70s door, makes fun of me. This woman wears cardigans in the summertime, and I'm less weather tough than she is!
I wasn't always this way.
I used to live in West Virginia, Morgantown to be more precise. Rumor has it we had as much precipitation per capita as Seattle. I did not look up those facts. Rumors were good enough, and the amount of rain, snow and everything that happened there supported it. Tired of the weather, folks would say, just wait five minutes. There were definitely days when I'd wake to a sunny day, it would get dark, windy, rainy and then the temperature would plummet by nightfall for a blizzard. Weather forecasts only take you so far in the Dub Vee.
I rolled with it. I loved driving in the snow and winter clothes. When I was a kid, I would be one of the first to make footprints in pristine, soft, snow drift covered paths. As an adult, there was no temperature or weather situation that I would not leave the house. If I had places to be whether a friends house, the bar, an event, whatever, I was going. Ain't nothing going to break my stride. Nobody gonna slow me down, oh no. I got to keep on movin.
When I visited my family in April, I had to jump through a series of airport hoops stopping at the Pittsburgh International Airport. I was wearing a skirt. When I walked from the plane to the actual building, a breeze ran up my skirt that was so freezing cold that my vadge immediately froze, fell off and I had to pick that sucker back up for prosperity. (I wasn't using it anyway.) It was nature's way of telling me, you can't go home again. And if you do, you may in fact lose your vadge. My family made fun with the relentlessness only people who've changed your diapers can pull off.
The boyfriend has made muttered threats about him pursuing post-doc work in Alaska. I think one winter would do me in.
*This is in response to BlogHer's August *hot* theme blog challenge.*