Perhaps it's because the Seattle area had so little summery summer this year, but I feel as though we skipped over the warm seasons altogether. The sun was shining (a little bit), but then I tore the September page off the calendar and it was like flipping the Winter switch. This seems to happen every year. I'm never ready for it.
Suddenly, out of nowhere, everything is gray and wet and so, so cold.
"It's only going to get colder," Rob warned as he eyed me shivering in my pullover and knee-high socks.
But I refuse to believe it. I refuse to remember last winter—real winter—when I wore fingerless gloves (for typing!) and knit hats and heavy boots indoors and slept with a heating pad (which you're really not supposed to do, just in case things get too hot and you burn your house down).
I think the Pacific Northwest must have a special kind of cold. I was never this chilly in New England, except maybe when there was a little minus sign in front of the temperature. But, as Rob likes to remind me, I was also 40 lbs heavier then, and fat is nothing if not a great insulator.
I'm freezing, therefore, it's winter. It's really that simple, as far as I'm concerned.
"I hate to break it to you," Rob says, ever-logical, ever-scientific, "this is what fall feels like."
But I maintain that the seasons here go Spring, Summer, Winter, (no, seriously, now it's really) Winter. And no amount of jack-o-lantern carving or pumpkin spice latte-drinking will convince me otherwise.