_I love the cold. Living in Vegas, we don’t get much of it, and in relation to plenty of other parts of the world, Vegas-cold is dick. I go “Brrrr 50 degrees brrrrrrrrrr” while there are people all over the rest of the country who have to do things like chisel ice off their car windows. That’s something I’ve literally never done in my entire life. But even once it gets down to freezing levels, you know, 32 degrees Fahrenheit like us silly Americans say, I love the cold. I treasure the short time I have with it. Sure, it kind of sucks when it’s just so it’s biting at my fingers, making it painful to touch things and trying to grip something feels like my entire arm is going to shatter from moving it in the bitter temperature, but I still love it. I actually smile while lying in bed, freezing my ass off, pulling all my covers over my body, huddling up as snugly as I can, trying to position my feet and hands in blanket pockets for warmth. That’s the thing I love…the feeling of not being cold in the cold. It beats the feeling of not being hot in the scorching heat a hundred times.
I think it’s because it’s far easier for the cold to actually kill you. The feeling of actively not dying in the cold is better than the feeling of being slightly less miserable in the heat.
“This cocky chef once ruled the kitchen — before he didn’t. Now it’s time for the most delicious comeback ever tasted!”
I like food. The God of Cookery.