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An Open Letter to Bundling Up

To my second winter in Ann Arbor,

Let me refrain from calling you “dear” to ask the question, WHY AM I SWEATING??? I took the plunge to actually get out of my bed this morning, only to read a negative number on my weather app and decide that wearing two pairs of pants is definitely the move. But hey, I made it out of bed—that should be rewarded on its own!

I should get back in bed while I still can.

I must account for a ridiculous amount of extra time to leave my house after bundling into what is probably a total of six layers on my midsection along with countless accessories that I will inevitably lose. Seriously, how many single pairs of gloves can one person possess?

Now I am forced to leave for class even earlier just to be able to find a seat, seeing as jackets take up the space of half of the seats. I know I would rather sacrifice being able to sit next to my friend during class in desperate avoidance of having to put my jacket on the wet, muddy floor of the auditorium of the MLB, where jackets go to die.

On route to my next class and after climbing the ever-congested stairs up to the third floor of Mason Hall (which, by the way, should totally give credit toward the fact that that is truly the fourth floor of the building), here I am: red-faced, sweating and scrambling to rip off all of these layers of clothing.

Sorry mom, but there is no way I can wear any of the 27 new sweaters you insisted I needed to class. This university is insistent upon keeping half of the classrooms at the highest the thermostat will go, ya know, in case I decided that while attending lecture I also wanted to go for a quick sauna session.

 

I have finally situated myself comfortably enough to endure the next fifty minutes in class, only to realize that my fly-aways are sticking up in every direction possible. There is no recovering from this one. My hair is going to look terrible for the rest of the day and and it’s best to come to accept the terrible fact. At least I know all of the ladies in the room feel my pain. Man, I wish I could rock a hat.

So, mother nature, if I’m actually going to do the right thing and attend class, could you do us all a favor and please warm up a bit. Not asking too much – vest weather would be perfect.

 

Sincerely,

I’m just not trying to look like I’ve been at the gym for three hours when I’m sitting next to the cute guy in my class.

 Is it spring break yet?

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