Really it all comes down to wet socks.
There are many seemingly more valid reasons to hate winter. I could hate winter because it triples my commute time. I could hate winter because it doubles as cold/flu season and from November to February I spend roughly half of my income on Kleenex and cough drops.
Sure, those would be good reasons to hate winter and they’re surely part of the reason I dislike winter. But truth be told, for me, it has always and will always come down to the wet socks.
Even as a kid I never enjoyed trudging around in the snow because it never felt like I had the appropriate attire. Now I’m not saying that my parents sent me out into the cold ill-equipped. They didn’t. They always did their parental duty and shoved me into snow suits and puffy jackets and pulled warm, fuzzy hats over my head and provided me with backup mittens in case I somehow lost the ones that snapped onto my jacket. I was so spoiled in fact, I even had awesome light-up snow boots.
Before I’d venture out into the great white wilderness I would suit up in my proper gear. I didn’t even require persuasion from my parents. No brides were offered, no timeouts threatened. It wasn’t necessary. I wasn’t crazy I knew it was cold out there. I hated the cold and also, those light-up snow boots were the talk of the elementary school playground.
But even despite my valiant efforts and my very-sophisticated rubber footwear, nothing ever worked. My socks would always get wet. Every single time. This was unacceptable.
Call me high maintenance but I simply couldn’t stand wet socks. For this reason, my playing in the snow adventures usually lasted 10 minutes, on a good day. Sure, I was all for making snowmen, I couldn’t get enough of snow forts and I make a mean snow angel, but it just seemed like these activities would be much more fun if they could simply be performed indoors.
Indoors I never had to worry about snowflakes sneaking into my sneakers. I didn’t have to worry about melting snow seeping into my polka dot socks and freezing my poor little toes. Skipping out on a few snowball fights was a small price to pay for warm tootsies.
So instead I became an indoor winter kid which meant I got to skip all the hassle of playing in the snow, the frigid temperatures and the sopping wet socks for instance and got all the benefits, such as the steaming cup of hot chocolate when all the foolish cold-loving kids came inside.
Now, two decades later I feel much the same about winter: I hate it. Though winters as an adult have their advantages (I can have as much hot chocolate as I want!) I still would prefer to stay indoors and let all of those other crazy kids wander around in the snow.
As for my grownup boots, they’re still disappointing me and my poor socks have once again become casualties to meandering melting snow. Unfortunately when you’re a grownup they don’t let you stay inside and drink hot chocolate all day. They force you to drive to work. They force you to go out into that great white wasteland and get your socks all wet when you attempt to dig your car out of a foot and a half of snow.
Perhaps I’d be less bitter about it if I broke out those light-up snow boots…