Endless Winter

We have hit the part of the year where it is eternal winter and I have given up on such things as normal-priced Ubers, wearing a singular pair of pants, and human skin. 

It is March 10th (debatably, since it’s actually the netherworld of overnight) and it is snowing. 

I tried to be incredulous about this, but it’s like when your friend who shows up late for everything*, again, shows up late. Not incredulous. 

When I was seven, I had a Popples sleeping bag to which I was highly allergic. Popples, of course, were stuffed animals from the 80s that folded into themselves like contortionist introverts. (Wikipedia says, “marsupial teddy bears,” which is a much kinder, yet less apt, description.) They enjoyed a fairly short-lived run of popularity, wherein it was intended that you throw them around like a ball and then un-pop them to cuddle. 

It was a confusing time. 

Sleeping bag Popple was the same idea in theory - the length of it folded into a giant ball, and once unfurled, the animal’s face became a pillow. There was some kind of zipper magic that had to happen to make the ball not look like a threatening lump, though, so in practice this was much more of a nightmare for second-grade me. 

It was, however, still a big hit at sleepover parties. 

Especially in the morning when I would wake up with a bright red and stinging face, angry from any time spent against the fabric paint that made up the insistently cheery, blue face on the pillow.  

It was strange and inconvenient, but not altogether surprising. I’m allergic to mold, pepper, and anything that spends enough time covering any pores. 

When I went to see the seals in San Diego I had to leave because I could no longer see. It was my sunscreen burning my face.

A couple of months ago, I bought sriracha popcorn and sneeze-ate it for thirty minutes. Twice. Once just to make sure I didn’t make it up. 

Two weeks ago I got a disfiguring bump on my chin because I wore my scarf overnight at the airport. 

I can’t wear my winter hat for longer than 15 minutes or else I get a painful zit on my forehead. 

I have tried to be incredulous about this, but it’s like snow showing up in March. It’s awful, you hate it, it would be nice to hide and wait it out, but ultimately, you can’t do anything about it and it’s not that much of a surprise. 

And it’s never going to stop. 


*This friend is me, though.