As I sit here, I cannot help but notice the blustery white flakes falling gracefully just outside the cozy confines of my second-floor dorm room.
What is it about the fluffy wafts that grant them the ability to transform even the most mature men into giddy little schoolboys?
For the most part, Athens’ winter has remained relatively mild, affording students weeks of sunshine, fifty-degree days and — until last Thursday — clear sidewalks. That night, however, the snow began to fall, and students began their own personal preparations for the new year’s first snow.
Now I use the term “prepare” very loosely. You see, when the first flakes arrive, women’s thoughts turn almost immediately to the piles of adorable sweaters, peacoats and scarves hidden in the confines of their wardrobes — what they will wear and how they will keep warm.
Men, on the other hand, begin an almost-instantaneous anticipation of all winter-related activities: snow forts, sledding and the ever-popular snowball fight. They have no patience for coats or scarves, viewing the snow as a beast to conquer rather than another mundane nuisance.
Although men’s frivolous approach to cold weather may lead to more than a few frozen fingers and toes, at the end of the day they are the ones left smiling while we women are left cheering — grant it rather warmly —from the sidelines.
Cold weather is one of the few times when women tend to act more pragmatic than their male counterparts. They often chose warmth and practicality over participating in some of winter’s most exciting offerings.
Take, for example, a recent episode that occurred between my friends late Friday afternoon. We had just finished eating dinner when my friend Jack decided to throw a snowball at the side of Maggie’s head.
Instead of playfully picking up her own fistful of fresh white powder, Maggie decided to shriek her outrage at the immature attack.
She claimed Jack had “ruined her hair” and that now there was no way she could go out looking like such an “unattractive slob.”
She, of course, looked nowhere near as bad as she thought. In fact, the cold had even brought some color to her otherwise pale face, which left her looking youthful and bright.
She looked — for just a second — like a younger version of herself. Like the youth we all remember from our elementary years: bright and carefree as we all race outside to play in the freshly-fallen snow.
The men on campus hold on to this magical feeling long past adolescence, while women, for some nonsensical reason, have since thrown it to the wayside.
Perhaps by abstaining from such winter activities we hope to feel grown-up and mature, but, I ask, what’s the fun in that?
If we’re truly honest with ourselves, we realize that deep down we too want to throw all our cares to the wind, join the boys in an impromptu snowball fight and kick some male butt in the process.
Women, take it from me, that experience is so much better than sitting on the sidelines. Who cares if your hair gets messed up or your mascara runs?
In the end you’ll be having the time of your life, with memories you’ll never forget.
Rachel Sayers is a freshman studying journalism and a columnist for The Post. Start a snowball fight with her at email@example.com.