BABY IT’S COLD OUTSIDE

What a difference a week makes! Opening the curtains last Wednesday on a magical world of white, I got the spark of childhood thrill. The yearning to be the first one to make footprints in the crisp, fresh, whiteness. I almost trampled the kids in my hurry to get outside, before remembering bunny slippers were probably not the best footwear for snow.

In the end, I decided I was better off watching snowball armageddon taking place from the warmth and safety of the living room window. The kids would have used me for target practice and I couldn’t build a snowman big enough to hide behind. So I made a bucket of hot chocolate with marshmallows and tried not to worry too much about how I’d get all the sodden clothes dry. Especially seeing as our tumble dryer had wheezed its last hot breath and died on a double duvet the night before.

Today the sun is shining and the snowman is a puddle on the floor. Even better, the new tumble dryer has finally arrived and is almost big enough to dry the kids in on bath night. It is apparently an intelligent one, although it can’t be that clever if it can’t empty and fold too!

Snow can be very romantic. My honeymoon was spent in a log cabin with the snow piling up outside, whilst I was cuddled up with my new hubby in front of a roaring fire. Ah, heaven! There’s something special about spooning with a lover, so you can warm your cold bum against their warm stomach! I’m not sure that’s what Frank Loesser had in mind when he wrote Baby It’s Cold Outside, or the lyrics might have been a bit different! "I’ll warm your bum, it’s just like ice" doesn’t quite have the same ring!

It’s no wonder that the lover was trying to persuade his date to stay inside by the warm fire. After all, layers of warm clothing aren’t exactly sexy are they? I did think about doing the dance of the seven scarves and woolly jumpers for my hubby after we got back from sledging, but I couldn’t get my wellies off,  so that killed the mood!

My advice would be simply. If it is cold outside, don’t bother going out. It is far more romantic to snuggle down and (in the words of Frank Loesser) “listen to that fireplace roar”.

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