Even though my students from Alaska and Wyoming make fun of me when I complain about the cold, the low temperature tomorrow is 15 degrees. FIFTEEN. I don't care where you live, that's cold. I hear it's supposed to get up to 33 degrees tomorrow, which barely squeaks in under my range of acceptable temperatures. I am opposed to all temperatures lower than my age, and every year that I get older I lose a degree of tolerance for cold weather (this will explain a lot when I'm 60 and end up moving to Florida). Romantic wintertime vacations to Maine aside, I can't bring myself to get outside much when it's so cold.
However, it still remains necessary to leave the house every once in awhile. And when it's this cold outside the only thing to do is bring out the bear skin coats, trimmed with fox fur.
What's that? You don't have bear skin coats, trimmed with fox fur? That's too bad. They're so warm. Actually, we only have one bear skin coat, and it almost fits our largest little bear cub. (Post Script: My dad tells me he doesn't think the brown fur is bear skin, but rather something else less exotic, like sheep skin. Little Bear was momentarily disappointed before saying, "Maybe I could be a lion, maybe?")
Jason's grandma got this coat in Alaska almost thirty years ago, before it was politically incorrect to dress children in real animal furs. (And also, as Jason said today on the way to church, there's something about wearing real fur that is "very sad.") Grandma actually got two coats, which Jason's cousins wore before passing them down to Jason and his brother. We now are the proud owners of one of the coats, and Jason's cousin owns the other one.
Little Bear finds the coat very entertaining, and she also feels quite daring in it. I feel a little bit alarmed, in a highly comical sense, like I'm walking beside a tiny bear cub.
Watch out. She's fierce.