My Favorite Season Is Here

3 min read

My favorite time of the year is beginning.

I can feel it.

The mornings are getting cooler. Jackets are slowly making their way back into my life. Warm sweaters suddenly seem like a reasonable wardrobe choice again.

And I'm very happy about it.

I've always loved this part of the year.

There is something about the cold that makes ordinary things considerably better.

Coffee tastes better when you're holding the cup with both hands.

Cinnamon rolls become a perfectly reasonable breakfast decision.

Candles come out.

Coats come back.

Staying home suddenly feels like a plan rather than a lack of one.

And then, eventually, Christmas starts appearing everywhere.

Lights.

Decorations.

That particular smell when you walk into certain shops.

The completely unnecessary desire to buy things simply because they're covered in tiny stars.

I love all of it.

But there's another reason cold weather deserves considerably more appreciation.

Cuddling season.

Possibly the best season of them all.

Because cuddling in summer is lovely in theory.

In reality, there comes a moment when somebody inevitably thinks:

You're wonderful, but please move approximately twenty centimeters away from me.

Romance has limits.

Apparently, one of them is 30°C.

Cold weather, however?

Completely different situation.

Suddenly personal space becomes highly overrated.

There is absolutely no reason for two people to occupy separate areas of a bed when combining body heat is clearly the more intelligent option.

It's practically science.

There is, however, one problem.

Cold feet.

More specifically, the moment someone decides that your perfectly warm legs are the ideal location for their absolutely freezing feet.

There should probably be some kind of warning.

Or consent form.

Because nothing tests affection quite like peacefully lying in bed and suddenly feeling two blocks of ice touch your skin.

And yet...

you let them stay.

If that isn't romance, I'm not entirely sure what is.

Then there's morning.

This is where things become complicated.

Because outside the blankets, winter is waiting.

Inside?

Warm.

Cozy.

Coffee could potentially be brought to you.

And someone has their arms around you in exactly the right way.

Obviously, the responsible adult thing to do is get up.

So you say:

Five more minutes.

A completely meaningless unit of time during cuddling season.

Five minutes becomes ten.

Ten becomes twenty.

At some point someone checks the clock and announces that you really do have to move now.

Nobody moves.

This is teamwork.

Eventually, coffee becomes the only acceptable reason to leave.

Although I strongly believe this problem has an obvious solution:

coffee in bed.

I've said it before and I stand by it.

Yes, there might be crumbs.

Yes, someone will eventually spill something.

Yes, people who care deeply about pristine sheets are probably horrified by me.

But coffee under warm blankets on a cold morning?

I'm willing to accept the risks.

There is something wonderfully intimate about those mornings.

Nothing particularly exciting is happening.

Nobody has planned an extraordinary date.

You're just warm, half asleep, probably looking significantly less glamorous than you'd like to believe, drinking coffee and postponing the beginning of the day together.

And maybe that's exactly why I love it.

Cold weather gives us permission to slow down a little.

To stay inside.

To cook something warm.

To wear ridiculously soft sweaters.

To make another coffee.

To watch a film we've already seen.

To pull someone closer simply because we can.

Soon there will be Christmas lights and cinnamon rolls and coats and cold noses and mornings when leaving the house requires serious emotional preparation.

And somewhere among all of it, there will inevitably be:

Cold feet under the sheets.

Someone stealing the blankets and firmly denying it.

A sleepy negotiation about who has to make the coffee.

Five more minutes that become twenty.

And that very specific moment when you know it's freezing outside...

but you're warm exactly where you are.

So yes, my favorite season is arriving.

For the sweaters, obviously.

For Christmas.

For cinnamon rolls.

For coffee in bed.