Oh winter, you frost-bit bitch. Finally, almost a month after Christmas, you show your chapped little face. We thought that we could avoid you. With the end of the world approaching, we figured that you would just give us a couple of chilly days and be done with it. But no. For the past three days, I have woken up to find that my Ford Taurus was raped during the night. My windshield wipers are stuck, my windows refuse to budge, and it turns on with a depressed rumble followed by a growl.
You have raped my car into submission and apparently you like it rough. Well, I am here to tell you that I refuse to take your shit anymore. My car has been through enough.
My chapstick supply is running low, my car doors are officially stuck, and I am already tired of this winter wonderland. You missed Christmas and the nostalgia has worn off. Winter in December is comforting, winter in January is annoying. I’m sorry that you missed the date. Maybe you were drunk, maybe you were stoned, nevertheless, it’s not your time.
Winter, we are sick of you. Come again next year you ugg-wearing, anti-freeze-dependent, slippery little whore.