What’s that, drip drip dripping down your philtrum and into your mouth? Oh yeah, it’s the Niagara Falls of snot that has been continuously cascading out of your nose since last Wednesday...
You pick out the least soggy tissue from the Andrex Everest that looms on your desk and rub your red raw nose until a teeny tiny splotch of blood appears on the tissue from over-blowing. It’s fine, it’s just a runny nose. Don’t panic, it’s just a runny nose. It’s just a bit runny. You’re fine. From what you can hear through blocked ears, the cacophony of sneezes and coughs - dry ones, phlegmy ones, tickly ones - is just a sign that everyone else in the office is sick, but not you. You don’t get sick. Immune system of steel, you. You get sent home from work - which is probably a preventative measure, right? - but the bus to your house is filled with germs. There’s germs everywhere! Sneezes are floating through the air in an opaque mist of ill health that settles on your face.
You get home and your boyfriend/housemate is already there, bleary eyed and wheezing. Repeat for the next week until you’re banned from your office for a week and forced against your will to stay in bed and watch New Girl reruns.
God DAMNIT there’s no such thing as sexy layering! LFW you lied to us! The only way to truly keep warm in winter is hoody upon hood upon hoody and, whilst cosy on the streets, it’s practically unbearable on all public transport. It’s a cold face, boiling hot pits type sitch. Plus rosy, wind-lashed cheeks are so not gucci, if you catch my drift.
As if that wasn’t bad enough, you stepped off the bus TWO SECONDS ago, and the wind and rain have already aggressively taken hold of your barnet like a drunk hairdresser and styled it into a big mess that’s both greasy and dry at the same time. What the f*ck, man. No matter what style you had when you left the house this morning, but your hair will always look like Phil Spector’s by the time you get into the office. Not cool. Hopefully 2016 will finally be the year of the balaclava at fashion week.
Please weather gods, if you make it sunny at 6.30am tomorrow morning, I’ll be forever faithful. Seriously, I’ll be nice to everyone forever. I’ll buy the Big Issue guy a hot water bottle. I’ll bow down to the sun, I’ll avoid cussing whilst watching the Bake Off, I’ll stop closing the curtains and turning the heating on in May. I promise. Anything you want. A-N-Y-THING. You want me to stop making artistic Autumn-centric posts on Instagram? I’ll do it. No more picture of leaves, you have my word. If you make it snow at Christmas I PROMISE I’ll avoid rushing to put it on Facebook before everyone else. I’ll try and let someone else have the glory this year. Please. Pleeeeeeease. PLEEEEEAAAAAASSSSEEE.
It’s winter. It’s officially winter, everyone. Batten down the hatches. Throw away the ice cream. I’m going to put my on my STUPID chunky knit which I LOVE and think about all those times in summer where I could have sunbathed and I didn’t. X Factors on. I don’t want to watch it. It ain’t what it used to be. I guess I’ll just stare out of this rainy window into the grey abyss with my 60th cup of tea and imagine about what Australia are doing right now.
Perhaps simultaneously the best and worst thing of all time, putting the heating of is acceptance that winter has begun, and there ain’t nothin’ you can do about it. The clunking of the pipes as your heating springs into action for the first time in 6 months makes you feel like the Woman In Black might be living in your house somewhere, but once it’s warmed up, by christ is it cosy up in hurr.
Acceptance is truly reached the moment one goes out and purchases a pumpkin spiced latte from Starbucks. Much like women with fringes or motorbike riders, pumpkin spiced lattes drinkers - or PSLs, as ‘Bucks aficionados call them - are a small collection of people who openly acknowledge and praise each other’s obviously excellent life choices with a knowing nod of the head. That is because, like bikers with their motorbikes, or girls with bangs showing off said bangs on a perfectly windless day, you can be confident as you walk through the cold mean streets of wherever you live, that as long as you have that seasonal red cup and the sweet, sweet smell of pumpkin drifting up through that tiny mouth hole in the lid, you have made one great choice in your life, and people know that. Celebrate it girlfriend.
Which stage of winter are you in right now? Tweet us! @sofeminineUK
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