Twenty seven degrees and windy Sunday morning. Now I remember what it was that made me hate winter in Chicago. Now I remember why I liked Florida in January. No, it wasn't the cold. It was the goddamned clothing. Every time I want to go outside I now have to put layer upon layer of clothes. Undershirt, long sleeved pullover shirt, sweat shirt, and then the big bulky coat over all that while the dogs whine to go out. I almost got a hernia bending over to put the harness on Scout this morning. The cold out there doesn't bother me, because once I am ensconced in the thick layers, I am toasty warm. The problem is that I can't move with all that stuff on. It's like I'm in a cocoon. The dogs poop in the neighbor's yard and I am truly tempted to not pick it up. Just stooping to the pooping requires a lot of contortions. God forbid I fall down, odds are it would take a crane to lift me back up. If getting all those clothes on my back isn't hard enough, sometimes getting them off can be even more stressful. During Scout's very special afternoon walk yesterday (Chandler considers that to be his quiet time, when she's not around.), I was about two blocks from home when I got the cramps. I got a serious case of the, I gotta go right now, cramps. So I hurried Scout along, dragging her away from all her favorite smelly spots and dissuading her from chasing squirrels up the trees so that I could make it to the bathroom in time. We hurried down the street, up our stairs, and into the house, leaving a trail of coats, sweaters, and shoes behind. It seemed to take forever to peel all that off and I almost didn't make it. At least when I lived in Florida I was always wearing only a pair of shorts and I had the option of my neighbor's shrubbery.