One recent December, I was icing my back after straining it from shoveling snow (which, when you think about it, is a cruel, cruel irony) and decided to scroll through Facebook to catch up with what my friends were doing. I scrolled through the various bad back remedies (I had told my wife I had hurt my back out loud, and Facebook is always listening) and cute iguana videos (what is that algorithm saying about me?), but what popped up most often was post after post of sunny beaches in tropical climes. They had captions like, “The view from my balcony,” and “The warm sands of Acapulco,” and, my personal favorite, “Blessed.” I looked out of my window at the leaden sky of a 4:30pm nightfall. The snow drifted down like dandruff from a mangy Yeti. Grrrrrrrr.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m actually happy for anyone who escapes the Ninth Circle of Hell known as a Wisconsin winter. But you don’t have to rub my nose in it. All you have to do is step off of the plane, take care of that Vitamin D deficiency of yours, and keep it on the down-low. There is no need for you to make my winter experience even more miserable by comparison.

”

Don’t get me wrong. I’m actually happy for anyone who escapes the Ninth Circle of Hell known as a Wisconsin winter. But you don’t have to rub my nose in it.

JIM JEFFRIES

When my kids were small, my mom and dad would fly us to their gated community in Florida every other Christmas. They wanted to see the grandkids, and my wife and I got to go along for the ride. But when we went, did I post pictures of the palm trees decorated in Christmas lights? Did I share photos of golf carts pimped out in Santa sleigh regalia? Did I plaster my wall with images of septuagenarians in bikinis? Of course not. I understood how bleak a Wisconsin winter can be, and I didn’t want my friends resenting me. Also, Facebook was not a thing back then. But still.

Now, when my wife and I go on any kind of trip, we do not post any pictures on Facebook. We do this for several reasons. First, I assume that all of my friends are as shallow as I am and would be jealous of our southern adventures to Wisconsin Dells. Second, if my kids find out we are away on a trip, they would break into our home and steal our Klondike Bars. Third, if Facebook discovers we are elsewhere, they might put our home up for sale on Facebook Marketplace without our knowledge. Facebook gets a good price, but as with intellectual property, Facebook keeps all of the revenue generated.

One year, I finally got fed up with all of the beach posts. After 27 inches of snowfall, I went out in my swimming trunks, and my wife took a picture of me cloud-bathing on a snowbank. I put the picture up on Facebook with the caption “Greetings from the white, white beaches of Eau Claire. Blessed.” I got many reactions. One friend said that she only saw the orange of my swimming trunks, since my skin looks like dirty snow. Another friend commented that several planes could not land at the Chippewa Valley Regional Airport due to the glare I had generated. One person said that their optic nerve was permanently fried.

Still, the shivering I endured for this photo shoot was well worth it. After all, revenge is a dish best served cold.