I looked up the weather just now. It is 19 degrees Fahrenheit, but with the wind chill feels like 9. That’s -12 degrees Celsius. Negative. As in, below freezing. In case you were otherwise occupied during Valentine’s Day and didn’t know, it has also recently snowslushed, leaving large patches of smooth frozen hazard all over Cambridge, which by the way is covered in cobblebrick most of the year ANYWAY, which isn’t particularly pleasant to walk on but is certainly a lot worse frozen over.
Which brings me to my point: what the hell is wrong with you?
You teeter around on your skinny tall heels, tripping and slipping, screaming “It’s COLD!” to your friends. Really.
Are you trying to find a husband? I think the only guy you’re likely to pick up on this day is Mr. Hypothermia. Nobody wants a girlfriend so high-maintenance that she doesn’t know when pants-time is. Nobody wants to deal with a date who keeps leaving her shoe in the snow. You’re like the evolutionary opposite of a peacock displaying its feathers–all that wind can’t exactly be good for your fertility. Also, anybody who might’ve been interested will now be turned off by your feet because you only have three toes left. Frostbite is not sexy.
Maybe you’re trying to find a job. If you don’t have enough sense to dress for the weather, what will make them think you have enough good sense to be responsible as an employee? Unless you’re trying to get a job at the circus, in which case they might be impressed by your ability to climb over mounds of ice and snow in your heels. Did I say climb? I meant fall.
Please, for the love of all that is good, put on some dignity and some pants next time. And some shoes that are better suited for moving.