No, no, no, no, no!

First of all, every year around this time I start getting supremely annoyed with the kajillion companies that send me clothing catalogs. Why?  Because I don't want to idly flip open the first page and see this:

while I'm standing huddled over the wood stove trying to return life to the fingers that became popsicles while getting the mail.

Or THIS while I'm contemplating how many layers I need to put on in order to sit still in the house for a few minutes without goose bumps:

I get cold just looking at those shirts.  Or (*gasp*) REALLY not this, while I'm at my whitest, flabbiest, chilliest, winter best:

Actually, come to think of it, I just never want to see anything related to swim suits - that's not seasonal.

Do these catalogs work?  They must.  Otherwise they wouldn't use them.  But in Upstate New York in January, these don't make me want to buy their clothing.  They make me want to run screaming from such scanty little tops and toe baring straps.  All I can think about is the systemic shock of stepping into a snowbank in sandals.  Alternatively, they make me contemplate moving to a warmer climate, to someplace where the concept of spring is not roughly 5 months and 65" of snow away.

While we're on the subject of snow, though, allow me to observe that this post's title applies to the following sequence of photos as well.

Dang it all, if we're going to have winter, we may as well HAVE it.  To hell with swimsuits and tank tops and shorts for now, and enough of the incredible shrinking snow piles outside.  Let's have some more snow.  At least I could have some fun with it, and relish a cozy snowed-in evening or two in front of the fire.  Bring it on!