At exactly what point did I become a Southerner?

At some point in the not too distant past, I took another step away from being a Yankee and towards being a Southerner (or Texan, in this instance, the distinction is incredibly subtle). I confess, I really, really dislike cold, rainy weather. Stick me outside (provided I've had time to select the proper clothing from my closet) in frigid cold weather; crank up the wind; let it snow, let it snow, let it snow and I'm good. Especially at first, I might even be happy. I'll relish the opportunity to wear my favorite wool sweater (yes, I have more than one). I'll breathe deep and enjoy the fact that I can feel the cool of the air all the way into my lungs. I'll have a smile on my face as my nose starts to turn red and run. And I'll chuckle at the reaction others have to my penguin hat. I love my penguin shaped winter hat. But, once it starts to rain I become like just about every other person living south of the Mason-Dixon line (and a lot of Southerners transported to the north, I would assume). Cold rain makes me want to curl up on my couch under my fuzzy Batman blanket, my two cats cuddled in close, a fire raging in the fireplace, a mug of hot chocolate close by and a book long enough and interesting enough that I am able to not have to leave the couch until the mercury either climbs to a respectable value or the sun comes out...preferably both. It's the weather that makes me want to hibernate until, like late July, when it's 127-bluezillion degrees outside and I seriously contemplate carry around a bucket, just in case I start to melt.
I didn't use to be like this. At least I don't think I did. I never remember liking cold, rainy days. But I also never remember disliking them with such a vengeance. Growing up, I think we were, in a way, thankful for cold, rainy days. Cause, then, at least, the rain wasn't coming down as feet and feet of snow. (Snow days weren't as idyllic for me as some media have made them out to be. The day usually started fairly early, helping Dad shovel a path so that he could get on the main road and go to work. Dad never missed work because of the weather. And, at that point, we were up and dressed, so we might as well finish the job of shoveling out the driveway and the sidewalk. By the time that was done, and my sister and I and some of the other kids from the block had gotten everyone who was foolish enough to venture down our street unstuck from the snow, the plow had come through and it was time to shovel out the entrance to the driveway...again. And then there were the elderly neighbors whose driveways we often helped shovel, or at least a path out their doors. Snow days were fun, but they were also a lot of work.)
I know I should be grateful that it's not 127-bluezillion degrees outside year round. But, on days like today...when it's cold and rainy, at least a part of me wishes that it was. And that desire, and the fact that it might mean that I someday soon have to give up my "Yankee card" scares me more than I really want to admit.