Chilblaines aren’t cool
It’s been five years I’ve lived in Minneapolis, and about time I froze my ass off (or some other body part).
When I typed this last Wednesday night, it was 9 below zero outside. 9 below zero? Big deal, you say, if you are one of the one 12apostrophes reader/contributers who lives in Finland, or are someone’s grandparent, and have reached the age of scoffing hyperbole (“9 below? We used to walk to school when it was 9 below, on our hands. With paper bags for mittens. And we were grateful.”).
OK, 9 below zero, big deal — but with . . .