It’s a windy twenty degrees in Michigan right now. Our heat registers look like iPod docking stations, only the iPods are actually humans, and they aren’t recharging, they are soaking up heat. There are fights and arguments over the dining room register because it blows the most heat.
Even the dog is reluctant to go a outside to pee.
I used to watch all those shows about living in Alaska and think I wanted to move to there. . . . where only real men survive . . . . I would live like a wild mountain man and all that nonsense. I’m starting to look at things more realistically now.
I will miss garbage day just to avoid being outside for the three minutes it takes to put the garbage out. Real men in Alaska would take out the garbage in their underwear on a windy twenty degree day.
Real men in Alaska hunt and fish for food on a twenty degree day. I get chilly in the frozen food section of the grocery store and try to hurry down the aisle.
Real men drive a team of Husky dogs pulling a rickety sled through the snow to go the hundred miles to town for supplies. I won’t drive anywhere without starting my truck and letting it warm up for an hour before driving to the store to get more hot chocolate.
I now know that I would rather live in a jail cell with a group of delinquent kids repeatedly shooting me through the bars with BB guns than to live in Alaska.
I’m not giving up my dream to go and live like a real man. I’m just altering the location where I do it. There must be some place in the Caribbean where real men endure hardships to survive. Hardships like slow service at the beachside Tiki bar.