The full moon has to have something to do with madness because there is no other way to justify our actions. We had an invite to an American pal's house on a Saturday night party. The invite didn't give any further permissions to take our clothes off and roll about in the snow which is what we proceeded to do. Alcohol might have been one of the minor reasons but it was mostly the (hopefully temporary) upsurge of abnormality that pushed us off the edge.
We arrived in the most traditional fashion with a pack of 12 Sam Adams longnecks to our friend Mark's cabin in the woods. Located somewhere in the woods of Freetown, Massachusetts, this was how the house of a outdoors man like Mark should've been. It was old American Indian territory with snow encrusted huge trees and frozen lakes as was expected at this stage of an especially bitter Massachusetts winter. The snow of the past few months lay in piles all around.
We walked into the cozy pinewood cabin you can imagine with a stove for extra warmth, a golden glow I had only seen in houses shown in the movies, Pink Floyd themed decorations and classic rock throbbing from the army of speakers. A few beers and a couple of shots of tequila later, we were prime targets for the casual inciter. Before we understood the implications of our public announcements, we were already in only our shorts and a towel on our shoulders. There was no turning back now.
Walking out into the yard semi-naked as we were, there was a spring in our steps. Like I said, it must be the moon playng its strange tricks on the mind without which there were no grounds for excitement. We were about to soak ourselves in a hot bubble bath in the centre of the yard and then flounce about in snow at least 3-4 days old. In the yard of a little house on the back of beyond, nothing was too much; nothing seemed to faze us any longer.
So we did do the incomprehensible. We drank beers and smoked in the supreme comfort of the bubble bath and then proceeded to wiggle about in pretty tough snow. Thrice... So what's the out-take of all this apart from bruised knees and elbows? Well, for one there is the wicked sensation of pleasure and pain clubbed together quite sado-masochistic in nature. As for why? Someone once asked George Mallory, the famous mountaineer why he wanted to climb Mt. Everest. Mallory's reply was brief but complete. He said "Because it's there."