God bless snow days.
In case you missed it, the Southeastern United States is in the throes of an aggressive two-day winter storm the likes of which the Midatlantic might refer to as “literally every single day from November to May.”
I grew up in northern Illinois and I understand that what we’re experiencing down here is actually just a flurry compared to the blizzards our Yankee brethren deal with half the year. But here’s the thing: we don’t have snow plows or salt or ice scrapers or a motherfluffin’ care in the world down here so LET’S HAVE A SNOW DAY.
I decided that if I had to be locked in my apartment for two days, it would be the cleanest apartment in all the land. Related: I hate litter boxes.
Once my house was bleached from top to bottom I went straight to the grocery store to stock up on bread and milk. False. I ate some spaghetti squash with kidney beans and fried tempeh and tahini and dill. Why do people eat so much bread and milk when it snows?
I bet the grocery stores are lined with gluten-free vegans throwing whole-wheat bread and gallons of cow milk into carts like, “I DON’T KNOW THIS IS JUST WHAT YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO DO.”
This guy knows:
Anyway, I got all bundled up like LET’S DO THIS WINTER and then went on a half-mile walk to see if anything was open (it wasn’t) and decided my days were surely numbered. Go on without me… I would die so fast in the woods.
I didn’t die on Central Avenue and lived to tell my tell at Pizza Peel, the only restaurant in town smart enough to capitalize on this captive audience. It was slammed and awesome and every day should be a snow day.
I’m making blondies and picking out tattoos and checking tomorrow’s forecast. (More snow day.)