Ok, yes, I’m falling behind already, but I’m trying!
December is the cruellest month –
parading party dresses, event after event, and yet,
goosebumps will never be a desirable look.
Choosing between half-freezing to death,
and hiding your glad-rags, buried
in a heavenly hug of wool.
It’s the cruellest irony that the season of parties
coincides with the season of snow and ice;
incomparably incompatible with the party shoe.
The deluge of invites and rainfall, matching each other
blow-for-blow, as the wind howls in,
threatening to throw dignity to, well, itself.
Far more tempting to stay tucked up and warm,
hiding from the weather, mulled wine in hand –
winter should be seen, and not walked in.
But then, isn’t that why taxis were invented?