I had the most fabulous blog post planned for today—filled with charm, pathos, insight, and humor—nay, not humor. I’ll be so bold as to say downright merriment.
Instead, I’m going to whine.
We’re still digging out from a blizzard. And I mean a blizzard technically. Not the kind of exaggeration we all indulge in, like, “Wow! It’s a blizzard out there!” I mean an official Weather Channel blizzard, which means a snow storm plus winds over 35 mph, plus greatly reduced visibility, even a whiteout, and plus those winds over 35 mph have to last more than three hours.
I got about two feet of snow during the blizzard, except for the drifts, which were deeper. For some reason, snow drifts are always deeper. Where does all that extra snow come from?
Somewhere some lucky person (never me) wakes up, looks out his window, and says, “Wow! Look, hon! Because of all that wind, which was in excess of 35 mph, we have anti-drifts. Our driveway is so clean I can see all the tiny cracks that mean a $1,000 resealing job.”
Then this lucky person starts to blush, ashamed that Harry Mudbutt across the street will see the cracks in the driveway and think poorly of him. There’s Harry, now. Maybe. All that’s visible is a snow hat, complete with ear flaps, and in a fashionable SOS, neon-orange color. The hate is slowly moving on top of the snow drifts toward the garage where the snow blower is. One can only assume that beneath the hat staggers Harry.
I know I’ve been subtle so far, but I don’t want to burden you with so many metaphors that you’ll need Cliff Notes to get the theme. So here it is, clearly:
I hate snow.
A few days after the blizzard we got another six inches. And now more is coming tonight. Another foot of it, or more, depending on the locale. I take this to mean right over my house.
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