Snow is a rarity when you grow up in Texas. I can count on one hand the number of times throughout my childhood that my friends and I ran around the neighborhood scraping dirty half-inch layers of ice off of parked cars so that we could create a stunted, gray snowman - so small and weak that we had to use a baby carrot for his nose.
When I moved to Baltimore, I spent a few years adjusting to the occasional 3- or 4-inch flurry. I even went so far as to invest in an ice scraper for my car after discovering just how unpleasant it is to start your day by rubbing your vehicle down with your coat sleeve.
Little did I know how little I knew about snow. This week, a meteorological disaster known as "Snowpocalypse" has hit the Northeast. DC experienced a blizzard back in December, and, like any good Texan, I wrapped myself in a Snuggie, sat in front of the TV, and drank coffee & whiskey till it melted. No such luck this time. With work requiring me to... well, work... I have been forced to actually function in this treacherous environment.
Folks, there's a reason we don't place baby deer in the middle of an ice skating rink. And it's the same reason I should be exempt from leaving my living room in this weather. In the past 48 hours, I have slipped and fallen at least a dozen times on the sidewalk. I have accidentally thrown my Blackberry into a snow bank (causing the battery to fall out, of course), broken my heels, groped a homeless man, yelled obscenities in front of small childen, stubbed my toe on an iron bolt, cried like a crazy person on a crowded street corner, temporarily halted traffic and, last but certainly not least, landed in a smear of dog poop.
I need sunshine. And a hug. And that flask of whiskey.