It's a bit cold in the office today and I'll admit that I am, as usual, unprepared for blizzard conditions, especially indoors.
Somehow I find myself pondering my third major gallivant leading me to those Northern countries around Sweden where I assume you'd find wonderous clothing items of fur and leather.
I imagined myself in at least a foot of snow, poorly dressed with boots that didn't insulate well and trudging up this little hill on the side of a mountain as the snow was whipping all around and then reaching this little pub-cabin place at the top and stumbling in the door with half-frozen toes and the burly men sitting at the bar would turn around with their beer and beards and just stare like “who let THAT chick up this mountain!?” and then I’d sit down at the bar and thaw out.
Upon leaving whichever country my imagination found myself in, I would send a gift back to the nice family who took me in and provided warm, wooly clothing to the poorly dressed English speaking American girl.
And then the thought vanished.