Snow Day: November 23, 2003
In which it snows.
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Noooo! Come baaaaack! What will I do without my daily dose of Emily? I’m lost and confused now…
Emily-withdrawal angst aside… it’s snowing here. Like, snowing snowing. A real Minnesotan snow. Not that little frost-on-your-windows shit you like to call snow in your dumbass little town. No, this is the real kahuna here. This is God’s anthrax. I call it that because it kills. Seriously, it does. You feel something wet hit your head, and you look up, and down comes a huge snowflake into your nostrils, expanding widthwise like a fluffy tampon to fill your nasal passages and suffocate you dead. This is why there are very few village idiots in Minnesota — like bugs and roses, they get wiped out in winter.
Being the closest thing to a village idiot this town is ever likely to see, I have to take special precautions during snowstorms. Walking is definitely out, because of the many possible ways for me to die — I could: a) slip on the ice and break my neck and/or slide out into rush-hour traffic, b) get stuck in the waist-deep snow and be forced to cannibalize myself and innocent passersby, c) die of sheer Floridian sensitivity the second I step out into the sub-zero temperatures, or d) my boots might spring a leak, and having cold wet feet is a fate worse than death. Also, I’ve been running into lots of old school chums recently, and there is always the possibility that I’ll come face-to-face with a gang of them who will fondly recall old times by chucking snowballs at me. And I can’t run very fast in these boots.
Now that I’m safely inside, the snow seems lovely and cosy. It casts a pretty warm light through the windows of my apartment. Of course, if it keeps snowing this hard, I won’t be able to see out the windows soon. Meanwhile, I’ll crank up the Berlioz, munch a few chocolate-chip cookies, and enjoy my surprisingly-warm apartment. (The heat is still working. It has been working for two weeks straight. Imagine that. The karmic price we have to pay for this unexpected comfort is the deterioration of our bathroom ceiling, which droops a little lower every day. If you don’t hear from me for awhile, I’m probably trapped under our upstairs neighbor’s bathtub…)
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