The temperatures have entered a month-long limbo contest. Alaska’s probably winning (or Siberia or Antarctica), but Mainz seems out to beat her personal record. Everything in our kitchens is frozen: the water, the dish soap, the carrots, the onions, your hands as you try to empty a bag of pasta into boiling water. The cooking oil has all gone solid. There is no need to use a refrigerator. In fact, the refrigerator in the Beard’s kitchen (we have separate kitchens at the moment because he wants to be in a communal kitchen and I don’t) turned itself off after the first night of minus double digit temperatures.
I am ready for hibernation.
“I think I’ll just sleep until I go into labor,” I told the Beard yesterday morning from beneath my favorite down blanket. If only I was a bear. Or a hedgehog. Or a skunk.
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