I’m cool with the cold.

It can stay for a bit longer.

I know I moved to Florida for a break in the gray. For warmth. For sun. For sundresses. Flip flops. Enormous sunglasses.

But I miss the cold. I miss bundling. I miss warming my face over a hot cup of soup. I miss the crunch of snow. Skiing. Snowmobiling. The utilitarian function of long baths. How when you step outside on a bright white day, the air doesn’t move. Even your breathing is silent, as if your lungs are also wearing a sweater.

I realize how much I miss the cold when the square-jawed weathermen in Florida start shaking in their Izod shirts and advising people to cover their plants and dress their children in snowsuits every time the temperature drops below 50.

The cold is such a novelty in Florida, like juggling monkeys or monogrammed pillows.

I realize how much I miss it when I set off on a run dressed in layers of quilted cotton, stretchy gloves and a scarf. I miss the look and feel of red windburned cheeks. The taste of velvety hot chocolate. The creamy burn of it going down your throat. The tiny, crunchy marshmallows that come in instant cocoa packets.

When I lived in Buffalo you rarely saw people’s LEGS. Even in June and July, when people start stripping off their long johns, the legs look less like legs and more like milkweeds.

In Florida, I see my neighbor’s hairless chest on a daily basis. In Florida, shopkeepers hang signs in their store windows that say, “No Shirt, No Shoes, No Service.”

I used to think only crackpots and rednecks would dare enter a business minus their shoes. Now I know better. In September, when it’s been 97 degrees for 36 consecutive days, you don’t even realize you’re naked. I once almost walked out my front door to get the mail in only a pair of underwear.

Yet, I believe it’s not until Florida gets a bitter cold front that the flip flop-wearing populace actually starts to show their true colors. We’re a spoiled lot. Vulnerable to wind chill. Our skin pickles in the cold, dry air. Yet, most of us moved here from The North, so I don’t get it.

When did we all become such lily-livered shut-ins?

When my sister-in-law and I walked into our yoga class last night, the teacher patted us on the back for having braved the cold to attend class.

That’s the way it is here. You brave the cold.

I don’t know about the lily-livered shut-ins, but a healthy dose of cold weather is cleansing. It keeps the heart pumping. Besides, I think Floridians look exotic in puffy coats and ski caps.

My question is: why not embrace the cold? We spend most of the year sweating our sacks off. A cold front is a gift from the heavens. Grab your iPod, your mittens and go for a walk. Get drunk off the cool, pepperminty air. It’ll be 75 this weekend.

I just realized I Lanced about this very topic last January. I’m so predictable, so Andy Rooney.

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PS. Photo: me in January 2009 in North Collins, N.Y.