It's not that I'll miss the very cold winters themselves, because I won't. I won't miss the skiing (torture), the outdoor ice skating with it's needling toe frostbite (misery) or the Dr. Zhivago-like snow storms blowing prickly, sleety snow sideways into my face. (kill me now)
No, what I'll really miss is my nifty beer can hat.
If only I had one whose style was more befitting the coming spring thaw and, beyond that, the looming spectre of global warming.
