Winter=Bleagh

This weekend it snowed and snowed and snowed and snowed and snowedandsnowedandsnowed. It snowed so much that I abandoned my car at work, walked home, and managed the weekend without my own vehicle.

I do not care for winter. It is cold and it is dark. It’s so cold and so dark that, sometimes, a person’s alarm is accidentally set for 7:02 pm instead of 7:02 am and she only wakes up because she hears the neighbors scraping ice off their cars because why would a person wake up on her own if it’s still dark outside? Hypothetically, said person would then be in a rush to get out the door on time and would have no time to make a bowl of warming, life-sustaining oatmeal and would be forced to settle for toast that turns cold as soon as she hits her front porch. Then, possibly, her hands would almost freeze beyond use because she’s trying to eat her toast while walking to work. She can’t put on her gloves, because the gloves in her coat pocket are her velvet, torrid-love-affair gloves, and it’s very hard to eat toast in velvet gloves! Eventually the gloves DO come out because it’s cold enough to de-perkify a Smurf, and then, as anticipated, her toast falls in the snow, because, I wasn’t kidding, you can’t feel a thing in velvet gloves. Fortunately, snowy toast tastes just fine.

I’m getting to the part where I advocate partial hibernation, but it’s going to have to wait until tomorrow. Prepare yourselves to agree with me on this and lobby the appropriate authorities.