It’s freezing. Like, super bloody cold! As if having to commit the cardinal sin of going back into the office between Christmas and New Year wasn’t painful enough, I had to do it this morning with icicles on my face.
It’s a fact that I dress better in the winter. I am OBSESSED with grey jumpers and these legs were born to be in a 90 denier tight. BUT, I am 100% a summer person. I love pub gardens, I like being outside without getting hyperthermic and I enjoy being by the seaside. I do have see through skin so sunburn is a daily challenge but it’s the only down side.
Granted the winter months have their plus points. Red wine, CHRISTMAS, all things relatively glittery and of course hats like this one ^^^(what a dreamboat!). However, on the whole they suck. Particularly January, which is depressingly only 2 sleeps away.
And here’s 16 reasons why.
1. You have to deal with people sniffing. Not full on snorts, just the annoying little insescent sniffs. Ever. So. Jarring.
2. Daily, you run the risk of loosing your job because of the amount of time you spend googling holidays. IT are currently having a field day looking at your history and having a good old laugh with John from Payroll about how far you actually think you can go on your modest (small) wage.
3. As if Christmas didn’t rinse you of everything you own, you then have to deal with the daily SALE SALE SALE emails that don’t seem to go away until you’ve bought two new pairs of Air Max 90’s and a coat that’s blatantly too small. Sorry, but babe, did you see how much meat you ate at Christmas? Defo in need of the 16.
4. Dry skin. Elephant like skin. That no matter how much thick cocoa butter you ply onto yourself goes nowhere. I am a scaly mess. Scaly. Pasty. Mess.
5. Arriving and leaving work in the dark. Excuse me whilst I just go away and do a little bit of self harm.
6. THE COMPLETE LACK OF MONEY LEFT IN YOUR BANK.
7. People trying to rope you into doing Dry January. Sorry, but I’m actually perfectly OK with my current booze intake/ fag consumption/ calorie absorption/ lack of exercise. Just because you hate yourself mate, don’t drag me down with you.
8. Snow. Looks lovely on the tele. Causes me and my lack of central gravity to go flying every time I try and move my feet. Cheers.
9. Which moves me swiftly onto Wellington Boots. Plastic, smelly, squealchy bastards that give you blisters and make you walk like you’ve had an accident of the toilet variety. Even worse…. Novelty wellies. Oh yes, it’s so hilarious that your wellies look like penguins. Get out of my face.
10. Broken public transport. Because it’s seems completely rational that, what in essence is some frozen water, would stop an entire train network working. Get the hairdryer out and get me to work.
11. Gloves. The entrapment clothing that stops you being able to do anything, at all, with any ease. Oh you want to answer your phone do you? Good luck!
12. Having to still shave your legs even though they’ve been hidden under layers and layers of clothing for months, just incase someone relatively attractive sees them. Long.
13. Planning how appropriate it is to commit identity fraud just to get yourself out of paying the impending gas bill. If only morals were easier to get beyond.
14. How busy the gym is. With part time, flaky, gym folk. I won’t bother with the customary raised eyebrow smile at the water fountain love. It’s ever so apparent that you won’t be here much past January pay day.
15. Shops starting to stock their summer ranges already. I’m sorry but it’s minus 2 outside and your trying to flog me a bikini? The current state I’m in is a phase I like to call ‘The Pasty Whale’ and you want to shove pictures of skinny, tanned birds in my face? Show me the baggy jumper and stretchy legging section immediately before I take my custom swiftly elsewhere.
& last but by no means least
16. NEW YEARS RESOLUTIONS. Hands down the most pointless things ever invented and the source of so many conversations. Please shut up. There is no way, sweetheart, that you are going to shift 6 stone, meet the man of your dreams and break your ‘bottle of gin a night’ habit in enough time to get your leg over on Valentines Day. NOT HAPPENING. You’ll be at home, in jogging bottoms, on Tinder. Probably eating a KFC. Deal.