Tickled Pink

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The wind chill factor, that’s what they said on the radio-made you feel like it was well below zero, even when the thermometer read somewhere in the teens. It didn’t seem so bad when Matt and I were snuggled up in bed and I hit the snooze on the radio alarm for the third time. So class was a mile walk—I’d just bundle up.

“I’m going to get it running today, I promise,” he told me when he kissed me goodbye and sent me on my way. Lucky bastard didn’t have any Friday classes.

“Yeah right.” I rolled my eyes. Of course, I didn’t believe him for a minute. We’d been married six months, and for five of those, our little brown Dodge Dart hadn’t even started, let alone run! “It will be a cold day in hell…”

“Maybe today’s cold enough?” He grinned and I flipped him off on the way out the door.

It didn’t matter so much when the weather was nice, but now that it was cold, I hated walking everywhere. By the time I got to my poetry class, I couldn’t feel my fingers, even through two pairs of gloves. My nose and cheeks were so red, and I sniffled so much, the guy next to me kept handing me Kleenex and asking if I had a cold. My teeth chattered through my reading of Alfred Prufrock, and the professor made me stop and told me to go out in the hall to buy a coffee from the machine.

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