As it may be, I'm still wearing knee-high socks, which are sort of like half tights, but not. It's funny to me how fifty degrees is now in my mind "a nice day." Back in southern California (I only mention this because the NorCal folks have it a bit different up near Mount Olympus), "a nice day" consists of sun, and perhaps a sixty-five degree temperature. (Also, "nice days" make up 364 days out of the year in SoCal, for those of you who didn't know. Just kidding. We do occasionally see rain, maybe once, twice a year.)
When I was walking from the residence campus to the main campus, all I kept thinking was how long it would take for me to actually get tan again, and about how much I missed the sun and having nice days. For a SoCal chick like myself, the repetitive nature of wearing four sweaters and tights under my jeans with a coat and a hat and a scarf and gloves (and yes, I'm aware that not everyone has my mad layering skills) is exhausting.
Yup, that's me in California, not the Yukon, as I would have you believe.
So while I have resigned myself, er, chosen the bitter chill of the eastern seaboard over the glorious warmth of the golden coast, I can be at ease that at least people out here won't judge me if I'm not swimsuit ready in January.