Jingle Balls
Lately, I’ve really grown fond of winter. It gives me more reasons to drink tummy-warming liquids, hide egg-nog laden fat under ridiculous sweaters, buy matching hats and gloves and ultimately one up southerners in the Christmas lights department. Come on. Everyone knows that Christmas lights look a little silly in pictures when you’re wearing Bermuda shorts putting them up, even if you don’t celebrate the fake, debt-inducing, economy boosting, holiday.
I can even get served at bars for absurdly layering clothing like the Michelin Man while simultaneously sporting a ski mask, a.k.a. “the perfect, up and coming serial killer” look. Seriously, there’s nothing classy about the summer. I’ve aptly named it the season of prostitutes. Clothes are dropped, sultry makeup is acceptable food shopping, club sweat becomes club…and half of America thinks less is best. Hooray, we’ve become a Swedish discoteque.
So let’s talk about a classy season. It’s winter. Red wine, small heels, long coats, knee length dresses, suits and merlot nails. Not to mention it’s the season of family get togethers because we’re too cold and bored to venture far anyways, so what the heck let’s stare at each other and play yahtzee all night. Gotta love the winter. Oh and if you have an extra $20 per week for a latte, Starbucks makes an awesome peppermint mocha to add some sizzle. Just sayin.
