I can’t imagine how tired you must be of my Montreal winter talk.  I can imagine how tired I am of it.  Remember how I wanted to spend Christmas and New Years in Cuba or Aruba?  Well, we didn’t jump on that ball quick enough, and we have spent the last two weeks watching the snow fall from the comfort of our warm home, venturing out occasionally to let Rusby frolic in the white smooth blankets of snow.

I guess that is one great thing about living here is that a warm mug of hot chocolate never tasted so good.  Or a movie on the couch with a comfy blanket.  Or reading a book by the light of the window while buckets of snow shower down.  I think I have used the word snuggle and cuddle and comfy and cozy ten times a day.

Snow, my friends, is a good thing, because then it is “warm” enough to snow.  When it has stopped snowing, and cold breeze comes along, and with the wind chill, and I have to put on my waterproof mascara cause my eyelashes will freeze. One of these snowless nights, Pedram and I were walking home, hands full of groceries.  It was only a 10 minutes walk outside, but I only had my “light” gloves on (the rule here is mittens at all times, but I was feeling fancy and adventurous).  It was teeth chattering, bone chilling cold, and we were walking fast, both hands away from our bodies, carrying the groceries.  Two minutes into our walk, I started mentioning that my fingers were feeling numb, and Pedram concurred.  This sensation, a burning, tickling feeling continued, to the point that it was painful to open the door.  Once inside, the pain intensified.  Pedram pulled off my gloves to reveal my hands.

They. Were. Wrinkly. And. Pruny.

Like I had been swimming for a few hours.  His were the same.  Panic overwhelmed me as I started screaming — “what is wrong with my hands??”  “will they stay like this?”.  Pedram, equally confused and in pain, suggested we apply hand lotion — which we did, and our fingers slowly pumped back out, turned from yellow to bright red, and eventually turned normal (which is pasty and gross).

This is, what I have been told, the early signs of frostbite.  Another reason to stay under the warm covers and never leave the bed in the winter.  Or go to Cuba.