Bring Back My Global Warming — It’s June

I have been adamantly refusing to turn my heat on these past few days. It’s not because I’m not cold.

No, I sit, huddled like I always envisioned the teeming masses must have decades ago, when I learned about them in grade school. Only instead of crouched at the gates of Ellis Island, I’m on my couch, pitiful with a blanket pulled up to my chin, a hooded sweatshirt up over my head.
Come to think of it, I look more like another kind of American on the fringe. One known for pairing his hoodies with aviators, and sending bombs through the mail. On that thought, scratch that thought.

Moving on from my wardrobe.

I’m cold. But I’m not turning on the heat. And it’s not because of the price of oil.

It’s high but going down. Supposedly. I haven’t seen it. Especially not at the pump. No matter what the Department of Energy says. It’s too much for me.

But it’s not that.

I’m cold. Oil’s expensive. But I’m not turning on the heat.

Because last time I checked, my calendar said it was June.

Shorts month. The month I waddled with cankles because I was pregnant in the heat month. Graduate in a sheltering gymnasium and love it month. Let ice cream dribble down the cone and onto your hand and not even care because the cold feels good month.

We had a taste of it a few days ago, and people complained that it was just May, and it was too hot. And now here we are. June. And it’s cold. And I’m holding them all accountable.

As long as it’s cold, they’re going to have to hear me whine that I’m cold and have no heat. Serves them right, don’t you think?

Image via renaissancechambara/Flickr 

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