As winter is approaching, the sadistic part in me cannot help thinking (with a sardonic smile on my face, as it has to be) about newcomers from Southern countries landing in Canada in spring or summer, and naively believing the winter will all be about nice white snow and maple syrup flavored hot chocolate. If you have never experienced any temperature below 20°C, I admit the idea of winter itself might be pretty hard to get, and the post displayed below is a great example.
One of my colleagues from India had to come to Zurich in December a couple of years ago. The temperature was probably around 0°C (Canadians would have been running around in shorts and flip flop shoes) and she told me getting off the plane felt like entering a giant refrigerator, except that it applied to the whole country.
Maybe she feels like coming here and going for the freezer experience next time, eh?
I’m a metrosexual. I accepted it a long time ago, but I was in denial for a long time before that, and spent a good deal of time in the closet too.
However, I started dating a girl (now my wife) who happened to be a fashion photographer. She brought out my inner fashionista, and since then they haven’t looked back.
I’ve even become quite the shopper. My friends, who once disparaged me as a mere dandy, now sheepishly ask for my advice. And I reply with sagely aphorisms like: fashion is expensive, style is not.
In the land that I hail from, we metrosexuals dream of the wonders of layers – dressing in scarves and sweaters, frolicking in the autumn leaves amidst falling snowflakes. Instead, we swelter in the tropical heat. I’ve always wanted to wear a trench coat, so that’s the first thing I bought when I reached…
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