The Winter of My Discontent

Winter is horrid. Just plain horrid. Its the evil invention of someone with ridiculous plans of world domination.* You have to wear layers in winters- and if you're in Delhi, and the peak season has Already passed, you STILL have to wear layers. Which is bad, because not only do you have to coordinate your upper and lower halves, in terms of colour, along with shoes, but also your layers.(Anyone leaving a comment to the effect of Onions have layers, can go stick their head in a pig. Yes, a green glowing one). Theres the corollarical(is that a word? I doubt it) problem of nothing that looks good being warm, and vice versa. Theres the intertia of rest of staying inside a blanket, and the inability of the world to deal with that simple wish of yours. The water droplets make you feel like the Yeti, in the time gap of getting out of the shower and drying yourself. Your digits feel frigid, making it impossible to type with as much grace and elan as you would like to conjure up. Add to that the frigging problem of the bleddy temperature.

I can't wait for spring.


* The world, while being miserable and shivering with the cold, will be taken over by a well covered and/or fat dictator.