You got 34 inches of snow, you say? You can’t get out of your slider door? You spent two days holed up with family watching movies and drinking hot cocoa and sliding down the hills in your backyard? That’s pretty magical.
You know what’s not magical? Getting up and shoveling three feet of snow out of your driveway so you can inch your way down treacherous, mushy roads to arrive at work with mud-soaked pants and a beaten-down spirit. Having your car stolen out of your driveway while you leave it warming up because it’s so cold outside that your fingers might freeze to the steering wheel. Watching snow swiftly morph from pure white powder to dirty, muck-caked ice.
Sitting through, like, 15 more storms before you can even begin to think about spring.
I know this is pretty dickish, because I can just imagine all my friends and family in Massachusetts and New York giving me a collective middle finger right now. (A couple of them might even smack me upside the head…and do you blame them?) I suppose I shouldn’t try and suck what little joy you might find in a historic snow storm that’s dumped a toddler-sized load in your backyard. But dude…winter sucks. Fun to visit. Fun to play in. Not fun to live in.
So I give you your school days off and your toboggans and your tunnels out of your back door. I commend you for shoveling and continuing to shovel and then when you thought you couldn’t shovel anymore, shoveling once again. I tip my hat to your ice scrapers stored in your cars and your thermal layers. I smile at your kids bundled up like Stay Puffed Marshmallows, their cheeks pink and their eyes glassy.
But I’m just not impressed by your “weather” or your “Blizzard-gate” or whatever the hell your meteorologists were shouting about while Juno’s snowflakes became imbedded in their microphones. I’ll be over here chuckling when my fellow Californians warn each other about getting home safe when it sprinkles rain. And I’ll be very, very grateful I missed out on that magical mess.