So far this winter, there have been enough of those shitty days of digging a 1996 Camry out of a snowbank before street cleaning comes and tows my ass that I’m already begging for warmth. I know you feel me on this.
But it helps to remember a time when you weren’t so negative about the slush.
When I was 11 or 12, living in California, there was a snow warning on the news (which, by the way, never happened). The other neighborhood kids and I watched out the window all day, and finally, at about 4pm, there were tiny white snowflakes falling all over our cul de sac. We got less than an inch total, but we were throwing snowballs and making mini snowmen and even trying to sled down our front yards like we were expecting a foot. Though it stopped within 30 minutes, that was the only time it ever snowed during my childhood and
I remember it being the fucking best.
So the next time you’re dreading putting on warm clothes and trudging to work on time, think about the last time you were enthusiastic for Nature’s Dandruff. I’m not suggesting you try to be excited about every time it snows in Boston (I’m not a sadist) but I am saying that, in the depth of the winter gloom, it’s nice once in a while to channel your inner little kid. Carry that attitude with you next time you’re walking with someone who looks like they could use a good snowball to the face.
Just not me, please. Thanks.