You know what is colder than a witch’s tit?

That would be my house.

Not that I know just how cold a witch’s tit is, but my daddy used to always say that after coming in from the frosty winter air while I was growing up.

And judging by how perky and hard this witch’s tits currently are, it’s damn cold out there.

Try shaking that mental image out of your noggin. You are welcome.

It seems I woke up one morning to find myself living in the middle of a freaking ice cube. Literally. Over night the power quit, the furnace motor died, the fire went out in the wood stove and my farcking water line froze.

Welcome to Winter up in Northern Canada y’all. At least I don’t have to worry about the contents in the deep freezer thawing.

*yay for optimism!!!*

If that wasn’t bad enough, my truck wouldn’t start even though I plugged the block heater in. Turns out my battery froze and swelled up like a can of beans with a bad case of botulism.

If cursing can keep a woman warm on a chilly morning, I would have been feverish.

Thankfully, my husband in all his burly glory was home to deal with all the frozen carnage. There is nothing sexier than a man wearing three coats, a pair of winter over alls, a toque  and sporting a fine set of snotsicles. It gets me hot just thinking about it.

How cold is it? Two nights ago it sank to the frosty depths of -59 with windchill. For my metrically challenged American friends Imperial bastards that is -74 freaking degrees.

I’m used to chilly temperatures during our long winter months but there has to be a limit to how far the thermometer can push me before I go stark raving mad. I think I’m there.

When the radio station announced that I lived in the second coldest place on the entire planet, I cackled like a school girl watching her nemesis get pantsed.

I mean, when the only place colder than where you live is freaking SIBERIA, it may be time to consider moving to a warmer location. Or, in my case, go shopping.

What???

Unless you have ever been house bound with three children bouncing off the walls from boredom in deathly cold temperatures, you can’t judge me. I’d rather face the very likely possibility of freezing to death in a parking lot than be forced to watch one more episode of Wizards of Waverly Place.

Shopping turned out to be all right. For just days before the greatest consumer Christian holiday event of the season, the stores were surprisingly empty.

I surmise it’s because normal peoples’ brains weren’t permanently addled by the frost.

Pffth. Whatever. I scored a pair of nose hair trimmers for less than six bucks and found a pair of fur trimmed panties so it was a total win. Even if I lost part of my left ear lobe to frost bite and had to have my truck jump started three times in one day by an assortment of questionable men who thought “Can you give me a boost?” was code for “Why yes, I want to play with your trouser snake.”

Unfortunately, I returned home to find out the school buses will not be running anytime soon due to extreme temperatures which means more freaking Disney Channel marathons. I’d toss the badgers outside but I’m pretty sure there are laws about exposing children to temperatures that can literally freeze their noses off in under a minute.

Damn.

It’s not just humans that are suffering out here either. My dogs aren’t so happy about it either. Although that may be because I keep laughing at them whenever I stuff them into the stupid little doggy parkas they need to wear because they are basically rats disguised as family pets and don’t have enough fur to keep them warm.

Our cats don’t have it so easy. My husband insists they are outside cats no matter what the temperature is. I insist he is an asshole. The truth is somewhere in the middle. After losing the battle and worrying about them all night long when the temps dipped down to -59 I put my big girl panties on and waged war against my feline hating husband..

I won. The cats were allowed in for the night. I knew he’d back down when I threatened to rip his testicles off and throw them in the snowbank. For some reason he has an unnatural attachment to them.

The problem was, where the hell were the cats? They weren’t coming when we called for them and I had visions of frozen cats littering my driveway. Nothing says ‘Welcome and Merry Christmas!’ like dead animals decorating our lawn.

So I did what any momma insane chick who’s husband refused to help would do. I bundled up like the abominable snowman and set out as the one woman search party I was.

Let me tell you, it gave a whole new meaning to pussy popsicle.

The cats were fine; cold but safe and are now currently residing in different branches of my Christmas tree and pooping in my husband’s shoes.

I can’t tell you how this has helped elevate the festive spirits around here. Snicker.

But the worst part of all this? Beyond frozen pipes, dead vehicles, dogs who keep crapping right in front of the door because it’s too cold to venture more than 12 inches from the house, cats who are meticulously destroying one precious Christmas ornament at a time, children who are slowly torturing me to death with their whines of boredom and the sounds of Hannah Montana which now haunt me in my sleep?

I freaking shaved my legs right before Jack Frost’s terrorist attack and now, all my body temperature is escaping through my legs.

I can’t keep warm.

It’s like I’m being punished for grooming.

Lesson learned. The Yeti will return and hopefully so will warmer temperatures.

(Although it may get chilly in the bedroom since my husband has some weird rule about not wanting to engage in marital obligations with a chick who has more body fur than he does.)

Right now though, I’m willing to risk it.

Now excuse me, I need to go put a toque on.