It’s cold. Brutally cold. Five below. I stare out the window at the ice-covered mailbox at the end of the driveway. I have to go there, and I’m dreading it.
You can’t just not get the mail, so I don my hat, scarf, coat, gloves and snow boots. I can barely move, but I launch my mummy-wrapped body into the snow-covered polar expanse. My face cracks with the cold.
I quicken my step, hoping to get there and back sooner. The mailbox door is frozen shut, so I pound it open. I reach in and … yell.
“Arrghhh!”
No mail today.
“Damn the U.S. Mail.”
A trip into the frozen Nebraska tundra for nothing.
I plod back, frozen, disheartened and angry. I’m not going back, no matter hell or high water. The mail will just have to wait another day.
Back in front of the fire, the word “south” comes to mind. Why don’t I just move to the South? There is no frozen tundra there, and I’ll have a nice warm and ice-free mailbox. That’s why God made Arizona.
30-Second Read does winter
A bundle-up how-to
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