Every summer, amid the 105° scorch of the August sun, I pray for winter. But when winter arrives — and here that means maybe a couple of cold cracks per season, not a multi-month slog of ashen, slushy misery — I start to think wallowing by the pool with a mai tai isn’t so bad.
Heat drains you, but cold truly enervates. “Coming in from the cold” means something to you; there’s probably a reason no trite phrase exists for the feeling of opening a door and getting blasted by the AC.
But I still like winter. It’s cold, chapped, dark, and generally as numbing to the spirit as it is to parts exposed to freezing wind...but I bet those late-summer mai tais wouldn’t taste as good without it.