I love the way my mind works. Put me in a warm, toasty room and show me a snowstorm outside through the window and my puppy-like mind says "Ooo, snow, fun! Walk! Walk!"
Wait, I say. You know it's cold out there? I mean, really really cold?
Look, I say, see how the snow's not falling gently, but cutting sideways with the wind?
I know where this will end. It won't shut up about how much fun it will be outside. Or would be if I would just let us go out-out-out. Out where it's not merely below freezing but the wind is enthusiastically cutting delicate skin with knifetips of ice.
It's snowing, slippery, and the wind is biting. Sensible people are inside, toasting themselves in the bliss of modern heaters.
Those without puppies in their heads, anyway.
I know I'll lose this fight, so I wrap up as best I can, pull on boots and out we go, my puppy-mind and me. Outside, it's dark. The cold quickly sucks away illusions of warm-and-safe. We walk down a quiet, icy cityscape that suddenly seems odd and wild.
"Ooo, snow!" says my puppy-brain.
Then, a few minutes later: "Ooo, cold!"
And then: "Can we go back now?"
Yeah, that's what I thought. But at least the whining will stop for a while.