Winter Pants Blues

The sun is shining on the fresh snow, making it look a lot more pleasant outside than it actually is. Temperatures are hovering around 20, which is a lot better than the recent below-zero stretch, but that's still more than 10 degrees below freezing. I'm not going out there, and neither is my toddler. Unfortunately this is contributing to some cabin fever and a slight funk.

Sure, we could go out for a few minutes. But unless the ratio of time outside is favorable to the time spent before and after, dealing with all of the snowsuits and boots and mittens and the literal body wrestling to get the 40-pound block of human ice back inside the house and then the mopping up of wet snow melting everywhere, I'm not likely to attempt it today.

I've been Pinning dresses like mad.

Lots of us encounter a sudden dip in emotional well-being this time of year. Seasonal affective disorder (SAD) is a real thing, but I haven't really experienced it in northwest Ohio. Central New York in winter, yes, but not here where I have lots of positive associations with winter weather and where we really fare a lot better than other parts of the country when it comes to never-ending snow or consecutive gray, sunless days.

A lot of my friends begin complaining about the winter weather early in the season, like by Dec. 1. I have an unofficial rule of waiting until March 1. But again, I know where I live and I know there is going to be a few more fierce snow storms before spring really arrives, no matter what the date on the calendar is.

It's March 2, and I feel freer to grump a bit. Being stuck inside a house with a toddler makes anyone grumpy at any time of the year. But he isn't really the object of my distress right now.

It's pants.

I am so sick of wearing warm clothes. Especially pants, with their tight waistbands and their dragging hems, but I've pretty much had it with long-sleeved tops too. How I long for skirts and dresses, for toe-bearing shoes, for skipping out of the house without a bulky wool coat that is screaming for an end-of-season trip to the dry cleaners.

I know it can be a symptom of depression when a woman wanders around her house all day in her nightgown and robe. But it's because I can't bear the thought of putting on pants one more day this winter. Not if I don't have to go out in public or welcome a non-relative into my home. I don't even own snow pants.

Ugh, please, no more pants. Give me spring and a flowing, flowery frock. I'll even be satisfied with my heather gray jersey-knit dress that is basically a giant T-shirt. Even if you can't see it, I want to be bare from my undies to my shoes. Free legs. Pantless legs. ZZ Top legs.

Now I really am having a depressive hallucination.