“Ottawa’s not cold enough for you?”
That was a question I was asked (in jest I tell myself) more than a few times in the weeks leading up to my departure.
“It’s a dry cold,” I’d say, half-joking.
Winnipeg is notorious, of course, for its miserable weather. So much so that the locals have embraced it as a point of pride, a badge of honour.
Still, waking up this morning – the tenth of October – to a blanket of snow covering absolutely everything, I couldn’t help but think someone, somewhere was laughing at the cruel joke they’d played upon, well, me. For it’s not even been 48 hours since I returned to Winnipeg and already all those supposed friends who chided me for my decision have been given ample reason to point and laugh in, well, my direction.
“I told you so,” they chortle.
Granted, the long-range forecast calls for a return to plus-zero temperatures, which should, one would reasonably assume, put a swift end to this climatic cock-up.
Then again, I suppose I should embrace this unfunny phenomenon. I am, after all, a Winnipegger.