I’ll admit it. For the last couple of months I have been spoiled. Not only am I spending a semester in one of the most beautiful cities in Europe and seeing things I could only have dreamed of seeing just one year ago, for the past two months I haven’t even needed a jacket.

When we first arrived here in early September, the weather was gorgeous.

I would wake up in the morning and walk out the door in slacks and a sleeveless tank. By midafternoon the sun’s rays would be beating down and I had the complexion of an Italian instead of a natural redhead. Gelato sales were surely skyrocketing, judging from the amount of this Italian version of ice cream that my friends and I consumed.

And even when we did have a bout of nasty weather, it was short and relatively harmless. A splash of rain here, a puddle there.

Even as October rolled around and many of the Florentine fashion gurus like Gucci and Versace started bringing out the insulated vests and colorful wool sweaters, I still walked around in short sleeved shirts and had lunch in outdoor caf‚s. I didn’t even invest in a jacket until the end of the month and as the days crept forward to November, in the back of my mind I honestly wondered if my first glimpse of inclement weather wouldn’t come until I stepped off the plane in Chicago in mid-December.

Well, apparently Old Man Winter had different plans. A little over a week ago he made his grand entrance and he’s been dazzling us with his aquatic efforts ever since.

Even though I knew deep down that this tropical weather couldn’t last, when I walked out the door a few days ago and was slapped in the face by a brisk gust of wind and pounding rain, I was unprepared for the assault. The usual sunny sky was overcast and as I made my way to class, the saying, “Watch what you’re doing; you could put an eye out with that thing,” took on a whole new meaning as I attempted to skillfully maneuver my beat-up brown Smithsonian Institution rain protection device through a sea of other umbrellas decorated in every pattern from leopard prints to color schemes obviously inspired by beach balls.

Passing through the piazza near my flat I felt like I was playing hopscotch as I sidestepped the pozzanghere (Italian for puddles) that were forming rapidly at my feet.

As I made my way to the Piazza della Repubblica the smells of roasted chestnuts filled the air with their pungent aroma and I noticed that many of the cafes have taken down their outdoor seating.

But the kiss of death didn’t come until I passed by my favorite gelato stand only to be icily greeted by a hard metal door instead of the welcoming festive, flavorful atmosphere in which I had grown well accustomed.

Well, even in the dreariest situations I try to maintain hope, but then I discovered a tattered sign posted on the door giving the new winter hours.

Looking back, I should have known my temperate luck couldn’t last.

But with this introduction to a Florentine winter inevitably comes the reminder that in five short weeks I will be on my way back home, forced to brave the harsh elements of good old fashioned Iowa winter.

So until that day comes, I guess I’ll just have to wear my galoshes, a bright yellow rain poncho and a smile.

Christy Steffen is a senior in journalism and mass communication from Ruthven. She is in Florence, Italy for the semester as part of the study abroad program.