True, embellished and fictional stories for your amusertainment

Posts tagged ‘cold’

Baby It’s Cold Outside

Complete and utter humiliation

Oh Holey Sole

I don’t like winter. As a result, I often take irrational steps to pretend it doesn’t exist. Although I don a coat at the first sign of dropping temperatures, when it snows, I rarely wear boots, instead opting for tennis shoes or fleece lined clogs.

I have this preposterous thought in the back of my head that if I refuse to wear boots, I can prevent snow from falling. It’s never worked, nevertheless my behavior remains unchanged.

The first snowfall of the year, Stephen and I attended an arts and crafts show. True to form, I wore my tennis shoes. I got in the car in the garage and didn’t step outside in the snow until we arrived at our destination.

As soon as I stepped onto the slushy pavement, much to my surprise, I felt freezing water rush past my toes to the top of my foot. Running and squealing into the building, my feet were freezing and soaked before I got inside. In the entry, between fits of laughter, I told Stephen what happened. The soles of my shoes apparently had open holes of which I was unaware.

The offending footwear

The sole offender

I sloshed for three hours throughout the entire show. When it was finally time to leave, my feet were still cold and wet. I thought this might be Mother Nature’s way of telling me my choice of footwear could not control the weather.

The experience left an indelible mark on my sole and as a result, I’ve stopped wearing tennis shoes in the snow – clogs it is.

May the farce be with you!

Your IFF,



What Gets Cold?

This year we added a Ural to our family – a sidecar motorcycle. For me, it’s like an open air limo only not as fancy or as comfortable. Nevertheless it’s great fun.

Unlike a regular motorcycle, in a sidecar I can have any amenities I want.

Last weekend, the weather was much cooler than I can normally tolerate on a bike but I still wanted to go for a ride. No problem. After donning my helmet, padded motorcycle jacket and gloves, I wrapped a scarf around my neck and a blanket around my legs. The cool weather didn’t bother me a bit.

Yesterday morning, Stephen was anticipating being able to ride the motorcycle longer into the season since I could wrap up. This was our conversation.

Stephen – We should be able to ride longer with the Ural. You just need to figure out what gets cold.

Pam – I already know what gets cold – I found out last weekend.

Stephen – So, what gets cold?

Pam – Well, my neck gets cold. That’s the first thing. Then my arms and my legs.

Stephen – [Laughter] Isn’t that everything?

Pam – I see your point. Okay, let me list what doesn’t get cold. My head because of the helmet. My torso because of the jacket. My hands because of the gloves and my feet because they’re inside the sidecar. That didn’t help, did it?

Stephen – In other words, everything gets cold – you just need to cover up. Right?

Pam – Right.

If you see a sidecar motorcycle driving around this fall with a helmet and a lump of blankets next to the driver, wave because it’s me.

May the farce be with you!

Your IFF,


Me with my driver

Me with my driver

Catching Cold

Catching Cold

Catching Cold

This Story’s Fur Real

Growing up in the midwest 60 miles south of the Canadian border meant I was accustomed to bitter cold winters. Temperatures could get as extreme as 70 below with the wind.

As a teenager, I wore vintage fur coats purchased in Canada. They were warm and they looked cool. Back then I didn’t give a thought to the morality of wearing real fur.

As I got older and more socially aware, I switched from real fur to synthetic. It still kept me warm and still looked cool.

Some synthetic furs look like the real thing. One of my coats was in a tiger pattern. It looked like an imitation to me, however, not everyone agreed.

I remember being in an elevator with a group of people when a stranger openly criticized me for wearing a fur coat. She thought I was a horrible human being for skinning a tiger, a species she claimed was endangered, so I could wear it on my back – for fashion no less. I stood there, letting her talk.

When she was done speaking, I calmly stated that she was mistaken.  A family of farm-raised polyesters gave their lives for my coat and as far as I knew, they weren’t endangered. After I finished, everyone in the elevator laughed except her. She turned beet read. Not saying a word, she exited at the first available floor. I never saw her again.

I’ve included a picture of the offending coat. It still looks fake to me and to the best of my knowledge, polyesters are still thriving in abundance.

May the farce be with you!

Your IFF,


The coat looks better on me but Earl doesn’t know how to work the camera.

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