Last night as I watched our TV weatherman gleefully describe the frigid cold weather we’ve been having, it occurred to me that some Canadians seem to take a distorted sort of pride in their brand of cold weather.
“It's a very cold -23 below outside,” the weatherman said with a perverse cheeriness in his voice. "And, when I factor in the wind chill, it feels like minus 57.”
Why, after telling anyone how brutally cold it is, do Canadians add insult to injury by factoring in the “wind chill” – which is cold temperature combined with a nasty frigid wind that makes it feel even colder than what the thermometer indicates. It’s totally twisted.
Imagine, it's -23 below zero and I haven't factored in my wind chill. And I call myself a Canadian?
I should be ashamed. What kind of a sloppy, absent-minded Canuck forgets to add frozen insult to frosty injury?
So again this morning, I’m watching a news item on TV on our recent arctic annoyance and these people from Northern Ontario are actually bragging about their cold temperatures on TV.
Seriously, these numb skulls (forgive them, their brains are actually numb from cold) were actually taunting the Toronto based camera crew, suggesting that Southern Ontario was for weather wimps. They interviewed these rugged-looking individuals, one of whom, in minus 35 temperatures, was still wearing only his jean jacket over a t-shirt.
“Here in Moosebutt (town motto: Colder than Pluto) we know what cold is, and this ain’t it! You Toronto weather wimps have no idea. Heck, up here it gets so cold, your lungs will freeze up solid if you happen to sneeze and break wind at the same time!”
With the prideful way he spoke, you’d think frostbite was prestigious.
These guys seemed to be under the impression that cold was a competition. I seriously wondered whether these morons had smashed their collective toboggan into a telephone pole before agreeing to the interview.
Anyway, I have only one thing to say to my frosty northern compatriots... ‘Two minutes on power level four. That ought to thaw out your frozen brains. Put on your parkas for Pete’s sake. I get cold just watching you.
Suffice it to say, I'm not a winter person. Before my grandfather emigrated to this festival of slush a hundred or so years ago, he actually had a choice between this frozen slab of ice and dirt and the veritable tropical paradise of Australia. I can’t understand why he chose Canada?
Was it easier to spell?
It’s not like the name ‘Canada’ sounds irresistibly inviting. Perhaps if Canada had been named something more descriptive like ‘Freezyurassovland,’ then my grandfather would have picked Australia – and right now I'd be writing something goofy like, ‘G'Day mate. May your chooks turn into emus and kick your dunny down’ – whatever the hell that means.
True, winter does surreptitiously pulls you in. It’s the lure of the Christmas holidays. In fact, a romantic white blanket of snow on Christmas can get you through the first part of winter relatively pain free.
With the holidays and all that fluffy falling snow, those caressing sweet tones of our loved ones can be heard to say, “Oh look dear, it’s snowing outside! Isn't it wonderful?”
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