And, just like that, we went from barefoot weather to slippers-wearing weather. I can go barefoot in my house about half the year, and in the summer I actively search out cool floors where my feet will bring relief to the rest of my broiling body, but the other half of the year I have to put slippers on my feet if I want to maintain a body temperature above frozen solid. And I am living in that half of the year now.

I don’t remember what day it was, but it was last week while I was changing after coming home from work that I first said to myself, “It’s kind of chilly, think I’ll wear my slippers tonight,” and realized immediately that I would probably be wearing slippers in the house from now until March or April. And wearing flannel shirts and long pants. And not feeling warm, except when I’m buried under a quilt and a blanket and a comforter and snuggled up tightly against My Darling B, who will throw off all the covers because she’ll be too hot if I do that.

Some people figure it’s not winter until the snow flies. I figure it’s already here.

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