30 … 31 … 32 … 33 …

I can still hear the count even as I run farther away from it.

34 … 35 …

I need to find a place to hide so they can’t find me. I dash about the house weighing each possible location with the precision timing of a jack rabbit running from an over-sized falcon on the hunt.

Too tall for under the coffee table.

Too obvious behind the curtain.

Too wide to slide in-between the fridge and wall.

36 … 37 … 38 …

I’ve convinced myself I am running out of time but have no clue how long it was agreed they would count.

Outside is out-of-bounds.

No way am I crawling under there.

What about hiding in plain sight? Maybe they won’t think to look for me if I am near yet quietly invisible under their noses?

39 … 40 …

Found it. Perfect spot. As the count continues to rise, I inch closer to home base. I fold myself over and tuck my legs up under my own embrace. Wrapped in an old blanket, I make myself as small as possible, trying to mimic the discarded blanket thrown into the corner in a heap.

41 … 42 …

It takes serious skill to sit wound up under  hand-woven woolen fabric not divulging a sound or shuttering a breath.

As soon as they are done counting and head off in the wrong direction looking for me, I’ll jump up from my oxygen-poor lair and make a run for base.

43 …

I’m sure to make it back before getting caught.

44 …

Unless, of course, they are going to count to 100.

That’s a damn long time without moving under a heavy cover.

I admit it.

I am a weather wimp.

I own a fluffy animal print coat and matching hat even though temperatures normally only drop below freezing a few days out of the year. And I adore it.

I sleep with an afghan on top of my heavy winter blanket with the heater on.

I have a space heater to help me stay warm when I step out of the shower.

I need warmth and sunshine that is not blinding due to a bunch of white stuff all over the ground, streets and roof-tops.

All of my wimpiness is causing rolling outages in my hope, generosity and openness leaving me grumpy, sarcastic and a five-star generally sour person.

When will Spring start and I can switch to bitching about just the rain or lack there of?