Snow and cold and lipliner

It is white.
It is cold.
When I was little we used to build a snowman with my grandfather. Nose out of carrot, the works.
Memories in the corners of my mind.
I like snow.

But it is closely related to the true terrors of winter.
Gloves for goodness sake.
Bloody hats - yeah if I didn't look like a midget until now, now I certainly will.
Scarfs, terror, jumpers, horror, thermo underwear, not that I have that, no-no all black lace and red silk naturally, but drama, tragedy, drama.

Like the absurdity of going somewhere important, and you are dressed to kill, and your makeup is flawless, grace-beauty and elegance lingers around you bla-bla bla. And you step into the warm room coming from the cold November streets of Budabloodypest and your nose starts running. Over the Christian Dior lipliner, over the right shade of lipstick. And you keep on smilimg but you know that you will have to blow your nose after the "very nice to meet you"

Or when you panic-stripp in front of the toilett. Three layers of clothing and minimal bladder-control left.

And sometimes the bus doesnt come for the longest time, or an icecicle almost kills you, and you either dress like a lady and break your neck or look like a tramp but be save.

I know I know.