Snow, as I've stumbled down my septuagenarian stairs, has still held a certain charm; I do enjoy driving in it, and I admit to revelling in my skill at same. (Look! that old fart's making it up the hill, why can't YOU?)
But cold is another thing. I'm okay with temps in the 20s, but teens and single digits kill me! It's depressing, enervating, and damned uncomfortable. My bones ache and creak, a shower turns arduous, and my tank of jokes and laughs is running on empty.
The Mets home opener is April 13; that seems a long way away, right now.
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