Tropical Thanksgiving

So, perhaps this aside will be yet further incontrovertible evidence that I am a Yankee, with all such ill-mannered and cold-weathered associations that such entails, but can anyone point out any good and sensible reason that the high today was 81 degrees Farenheit an freakin' November ninth? I am thoroughly accunstomed to all insects being deceased at this point in the season, yet instead I have been compelled to buy a screen so that 19 different species of them do not invade my open front door each night. Insects are not supposed to be alive on November ninth, and I am not supposed to require my front door to be opened because it's too damned hot in my apartment. I must retreat north across the Mason-Dixon line, and soon, before I start getting fool ideas about never dealing with the abhorrent wretchedness that is snow ever again.

Oh yes, and people in Southeastern North Carolina tell me--really folks, they do--about how cold it is every time the thermometer dips a shade below forty. They all need to be interned in the Great Lakes region for one, just one, Winter, and we will see if that criticism is ever uttered again in a place in which half the trees never bother to change color. Well, assuming that that the Confederates survive the experience, that is. You Southern folk and your cold. Bah! I scoff at thee, December-hoodie-wearers. You would not know Winter should he--ah, never mind, y'all just don't know what Winter is. Come with me to Cleveland for Christmas, my children, and I will show you Winter, oh scarfless and earmuffless Carolinians. And you will tremble in fear and, oh yeah, cuz' it's ten below.