This just ain’t fair and it ain’t right.
It snowed for days and days on Saturday.
We live at the beach. It’s not supposed to snow here. And it’s certainly NEVER supposed to snow 6 inches. EVER. I mean, really, WTF?, right?
Looks kinda purty, huh?
Kinda like one of them there places in Alaska that the crab fisherman come from ‘ceptin’ acorse we don’t LIVE in friggin’ Alaska.
Hmmm. Hold on there just one minute.
Maybe we do.
I am so over this. One day every coupla decades is more than plenty for me.
When I was a little kid, just a wee mite of an oceandoggy, my parents forced me to live with them and my brothers and sisters in waaay upstate New York. In Massena, which is practically on the Canadian border and where it snows roughly 360 days a year.
The other 5 days are summer.
The two year ordeal traumatized me to the point where I can’t stand snow. Hatey-hate it. Even a little bit makes me crazy and I thought by moving to the beach I’d escaped it forever.
I’m guessin’ I was wrong.
So I sat inside on Saturday and watched it snow outside knowing that, on Sunday, when it finally stopped I’d get to do all the other fun-in-the-snow stuff that I remembered from childhood.
Like shovel. Woo-hoo.
First I shoveled the driveway so Miss Carol could get to her Jeep without slipping.
And then I went out back and shoveled off the deck so she could, you know, make me some dinner tonight?
And then I went back inside and grabbed a coldie, worn out from all that manly shoveling stuff.
Is January too early to hope for spring?