Dear Oscar Wilde,
Remember how you once said "Conversation about the weather is the last refuge of the unimaginative?"
OK. Fine. I am happy to admit I have absolutely no imagination whatsoever, Mr. Oscar Smartypants Wilde,because today I want to converse about the weather we’ve been having this spring and how it is ruining my marriage.
Oy. The weather here in Salt Lake City, it has been TERRIBLE.
Take Wednesday of this past week. Did you notice how cold it was? Even though it was May 1? And also did you notice how it was (sort of) snowing? On the very day we’re supposed to be outside, singing hey nonny nonny and doing maypole dances? Even though the last time I did a "maypole dance" was for my sixth-grade graduation program? Which was also the last time I did the "German slap dance"? Which sounded like an awesome dance until I realized it did not involve the slapping of actual Germans?
(Relax. I’m cool with Germans. Some of my ancestors — the ones from Germany, for example — were actual Germans.)
Anyway, bad weather in spring makes me grumpy. I take it personally. And even though this is not fair in any way, shape, or form, I hold my husband responsible for it. Why? Because dude just loves the cold weather. Snow. Rain. Coolness. Mist. Moistness. Gray skies. He’s all, Yes! Doesn’t this feel great? Let’s move back to Helsinki! Today!
As I’ve mentioned before, we lived in Finland briefly during the 1980s. It’s an amazing country full of amazing people and also many saunas. It’s just that for a variety of reasons, I had a difficult time there. Life in Helsinki did not equal my personal salad days.
My husband, on the other hand, fit right in. Finnish weather? Bring it! No problem! Or, as they say in Finland, "ei hätää!"
On the other, other hand, he doesn’t do so well with heat. He especially suffers during the summer months — and generally not in silence.
Let me be clear. One of the things I love most about my husband is the fact that he lives out loud, so I am not criticizing him for complaining that it’s so hot outside. And also boiling! Which is why he’s melting, melting, melting away like that witch in "The Wizard of Oz"!
It’s just that COME ON. In Salt Lake we only have the unbearable heat for maybe six weeks, right? Whereas, hello. Remember this Wednesday? No one was outside doing any maypole dances as far as I could tell.
After many years of marriage, however, my husband is finally getting wise to my moods. He took one look out the window Wednesday morning, turned to me and said (kindly), "Just so you know, this isn’t my fault."
And I guess he was right. It wasn’t. Just like it isn’t the universe’s fault that somehow people like my husband always end up marrying people like me, thus launching ongoing thermostat wars that last for as long as the marriage itself lasts.
Which I hope (in spite of my guy’s taste in weather) is forever.
Meanwhile, Mr. O. W., let’s hope an abundance of sunshine decides to pull up a chair, kick off its shoes and stay a while so we can all stop talking about the weather.
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