STRANGER THAN FICTION: HAIRY LEGS JUST ONE OF WINTER'S BENEFITS

Moan and groan if you must about the chill of winter, but it's paradise for this girl.

First of all, I tend to sweat profusely in the summer. Not just get too warm. Not perspire. Sweat. This is the kind of sweat that runs off the end of your nose when you are conducting outdoor interviews of important governmental officials in mid-July.

How embarrassing.

Winter is better. My makeup stays put, I can raise my hand because I'm "sure" and all of that good stuff.

Plus, isn't it great when it's cold outside, warm inside, and you can curl up with your favorite cat (Ramses!) in front of the television with the remote and a whole container of Whoppers candies?

The Roommate has found a new love, so It isn't home anymore, leaving Ramses and me to care for ourselves and bond with the VCR.

But before I start getting sentimental, let's reflect on another joy of winter -- leg hair growth.

Sure, you men think it sounds disgusting, but I like a winter full of jeans, pants, long skirts, knee-high boots, etc. When you're on your own, who cares? In the words of the immortal winter song, let it grow, let it grow, let it grow.

No one can blame me for my aversion to shaving, really. Bear in mind that I'm 6-feet, 3-inches tall, and the majority of that height is in legs, which feature "thunder thighs." This makes the width a factor, too.

Now imagine taking an irritating razor to that much skin EVERY DAY. Shaving my legs thoroughly becomes a major project, much like house painting or closet organization is for other people. So I forget about it every chance I get, until I notice the cricket-like sounds when my legs brush against each other.

With my renewed enthusiasm for working out, which has been renewed about 50 times since I moved to Cape Girardeau three months ago, the shaving is going to be necessary.

I went to the gym the other day, shed my heavy sweat pants to reveal shorts, and ambled over to a stationary bicycle. Peddling along stoically, I looked to my left and noticed the Greek god Adonis on the next bike. Immediately following my recognition, I looked down at my legs. You'll never guess what task was forgotten before going to the gym.

Add that to the mirror strategically placed two feet from my backside.

I jumped off the bike in shame and exited stage left. Adonis will have to wait until I'm more of a Venus.

I don't usually take to kids, but a new friend of mine has two and I absolutely adore them. I've been trying to learn a few parenting skills from him in case I ever bear children. Of course, if my current dating prowess continues, my childbearing years will be long gone by the time I marry.

Anyway, my friend had the most classic line the other day. His kids were pulling on my leg and yelling, "Gimme candy! Gimme candy!"

I used the standard response, "That's your father's decision." Not really understandable to 3-year-olds.

Their father noticed my plight and sat the boys down.

"Boys, we don't say `gimme,'" he said. "We say `please.' And when the answer is no, we take no as the answer."

"Please, candy?"

"No."

Is that parenting or what?

~Heidi Nieland is a member of the Southeast Missourian news staff.