Dear Snow, SCREW YOU. I’m sorry. Maybe that was too blunt. Let me try again. I hate you more than that Rachel Ray FHM photo shoot. No, that is still not quite right… I hope you turn yellow and melt a slow, painful, smelly death. There we go. But this isn’t a hate letter. This is my 26th year living here in Chicago (my year and a half in Australia seems like but a dream), and I’ve come to realize that no amount of bitching on my part will make you go away. Fair enough. But we’re gonna need to set some ground rules, or I’m gonna have to hit a bitch. 1. Don’t freeze my car doors shut. Because you know when I bring out a pot of boiling hot water, about half of it will spill on me en route. And then my pants will freeze. I’d like to have children someday, so I’m not sure this is a good thing. 2. Don’t encourage people to drive like idiots. The more you fall, the more people want to drive faster, and if they can’t, they get angry. Angry horn honks hurt. Especially when you are just trying not to die on your way home from the grocery store. 3.Don’t hide under innocent looking snow so that I slip on you (which only seems to happen when there are three or more people there as witnesses). I’m a klutz when there is no snow on the ground. No need to capitalize on that. 4.Stop making me fat. By fat, i mean making it so cold (it was -28F yesterday with the wind chill!), all I want to do is cook and bake and then eat the products of said cooking and baking. And then lay under blankets watching reruns of Jon and Kate Plus 8 (but flipping to the Food Network whenever Jon and Kate have one of their uncomfortable fights). You also make the three block walk to the gym UNBEARABLE. Because it is not easy ENOUGH to get fat in Chicago on your own. Thanks for that.
I’d like to end this letter with a photo essay of Nugget, my Australian cat experiencing her first snow. It pretty much sums up my own feelings about snow.
~LTG
