Walking in a Nuclear Winterland: Part Deux

I wish it were still snowing. For some reason, I don't mind the cold if it's actually snowing. Snow makes me happy, even when it's forcing its sleety way into my soft little eyeballs. So, it's not snowing, but there is snow, getting slushy and dirty and yellow and generally yucky. Trudging around in the muck is no fun, but it's nothing compared with the return home. You're outside, wind whipping around your bundled up body, and as soon as you enter your cozy little house, the warm air hits your bladder and guess what? You fumble off your wet snow boots as your glasses fog up. Struggling to remain upright and dry, you hurriedly remove your glasses, gloves, hat, scarf, coat, and if you're me, your blazer and dress, just to get to the zipper on the turtleneck unitard you foolishly chose to wear on a day in which you would ever have the need to urinate. You're lucky if you can fight your way through the gauntlet of beaded curtains and various floor clutter (shoes, Barbies, television sets) before you have an accident. Thankfully, your Kegel practice saves the day. And that's the worst part of cold weather. Except hypothermia.