"Wonderful?" said Brigid, trying to shrink further into her heavy jacket. "It's freezing!"
"Bracing cold air! Wakes you up! Gets the blood flowing! Look at that bright blue sky!"
"Geeze, look at this!" said Brigid. "My fingernails are turning blue!" She breathed heavily onto her hands, making billowy white puffs.
"Well why don't you put some gloves on?" said Greg.
"Now there's a brilliant idea. Why didn't I think of that? Oh yeah! Because I don't have any! A week ago it was seventy frickin' degrees -- now it's suddenly the dead of winter! What is that about?"
"It's called November," said Greg, pulling a large pair of mittens out of his pockets and handing them over. "I'd have thought you'd have heard about it by now."
"Well it sucks, whatever it's called," she replied, pulling the mittens over her shaking hands. "I want to have a few sharp words with whoever made this rotten arrangement."
"I blame Persephone," said Greg. "If she hadn't eaten those pomegranate seeds, we wouldn't be in this situation now."
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