I’m headed to Washington DC this weekend on a school trip with my daughter’s 7th grade class. Some of you might remember me taking this same trip two years ago with my son. Which, of course, means I’m a seasoned veteran. Except for the fact that the worst weather I dealt with on that trip was only about 30 or 40 degrees. And old, tourist-trodden snow that was already on the ground.

(pause for effect)

Check out the forecast for this year’s trip.

Five degrees?

FIVE?!!?

And that’s not even the wind chill factor. Does that part of the world do the whole wind chill factor thing? We do here in the South. The DEEP South. The region of the country that enabled me to wear flip flops for morning carpool last week. Where my daughter begged me to turn on the air conditioning in the car. When it was 62 degrees. Mind you I was already freezing. AND had the seat warmer on.

I’m worried, my friends. Deeply … profoundly … worried.

Which is why I’ve spent the whole week borrowing arctic attire from countless friends. And shopping. (Dear Lord, the shopping.) I just don’t have much experience with cold. I wear a jacket in the frozen section at the grocery store for frick’s sake. And, as I get older, I’ve found that my affinity for all things cold gets lesser and lesser. I don’t even care much for ice cream. (Seriously, ask anyone.)

So what IS your point of reference for cold, Michele?

Well, I’m glad you asked. Because, as it happens, I’ve prepared a list of items that I find intensely and, for that matter, uncomfortably cold. Feel free to poke fun or add your own in the comments.

Intolerably Cold Things According to Me

Vivien’s hands and feet … always (I’m guessing a good mother would probably look into that.)
Milo’s nose (That’s a good thing, right? Except when it surprises my face in the middle of the night.)
My sheets whenever I first get into bed (Which is why I typically pre-heat them with a heating pad. Don’t knock it ’til you try it.)
Swimming pools (Unless it’s 95 degrees outside, there’s no way I’m getting in unless it’s the dead of July. And even then … wetting my hair in public? Fine. I’m high maintenance. Whatever.)
The aforementioned grocery store freezer aisle (Seriously, don’t they keep the Hot Pockets INSIDE the cooler?)
The water in my shower after a lousy five minutes (I don’t understand cold showers. Maybe because I’m not a teenage boy.)
My butt as soon as October rolls around (Sure, that’s TMI. But similar to the groundhog … for me, it’s always been a sure sign of fall.)

In any event, I have every expectation and fear of freezing my butt and every other appendage off in a few days. (In my world, a butt is an appendage.) After all, I’ve only been exposed to colder temperatures once before in my life.

And that was at Minus Five Degrees, the novelty ice bar in Vegas.

That’s my dear friend, Carrie. And no. I do not have her permission to use these photos. (Sorry, Carrie!)

In response to MamaKat’s writing prompt: “The ache for home lives in all of us, the safe place where we can go as we are and not be questioned.” ~ Maya Angelou. Now write.

Because. even though I’m very excited about this trip, I’ll definitely be missing the balmy temperatures (aka “safe place”) of my New Orleans home.

Fine. It’s a stretch … but I know she won’t mind.