You wouldn’t know it by the warm weather we’ve been having the past few days, but last week’s farmshare pickup was FRIGID. The thermometer said 12°F, but between the wind and my cold, cold heart, it felt more like 6 below.
The Farmer had to work out there in an unheated bay for five hours, which, I think we can all agree, sounds pretty awesome. As I was weighing the onions, I started to feel guilty about the nice, warm car I’d soon be driving away in. Here was my approximate train of thought:
Me: Offer him your coat.
Me: No, then I’ll be cold. Plus, no farmer is going to take a girl’s coat.
Me: Offer him some hot cider, then.
Me: The cider’s right there. I think if he wanted some, he’d just get it himself.
Me: At least see if he wants to sit in the car for a few minutes.
Me: That man would rather die a thousand frostbitten deaths than have to suffer through more stilted conversation.
Yeah. So. I opted to just say nothing. That was probably for the best.