Foolish Southerners

The weather forecasters have been predicting snow this weekend for at least the past few weeks, 6-12 inches to be exact. The locals thumbed their noses in the air, laughed, and exclaimed, "It NEVER snows here! It's been eight years since we got even an inch! Someone needs to fire those dumb meteorologists!!" We knew it was a definite possibility, but being new to the area, believed the people who had survived a few decades of winter and just bought some food to get us through the weekend. Sounded like a reasonable compromise at the time.

Yesterday morning I woke up, looked out the window, and saw about 4 inches of beautiful snowy white landscape. It was gorgeous, and then it started snowing even harder. Guess who's laughing now?! We now have about 6-8 inches on the ground and it's a nice change despite the inconvenience (and wonderful news of school cancellation).



What we DIDN'T know about snowy conditions is that when it snows you need to shovel your driveway... not so that you can get out of said driveway, but because it freezes over and creates a slippery patch of awesomeness that will either cause you to slip and fall on your arse or unintentionally slide out into oncoming traffic on our busy little piece of the road. I have done one of those two things already while playing with Kimber in the yard. You would think a dog from Africa would hate the snow, but she thinks it's the most awesome thing that has ever happened to her. She is especially puzzled by snowballs. I like to throw them at her and when they hit the ground she pounces on them and then looks at it "WTF MY BALL DISAPPEARED!!"



Hank, as predicted, is not a fan. It's a chore to get him to go to the bathroom and while I normally end up pushing him to the yard in grassy conditions, I'm not about to bust it while carrying his fat butt while there's ice on the ground. Poor scared Monkey.


The worst part about this whole thing is that every time we have inclement weather, one of the climate control contraptions goes out. On a Saturday morning when we can't call our landlord. Last August it was the AC and we spent 5 sweaty nights (with 3 trips by the handy man) before our landlord broke down and bought us some window units. That thing still didn't get fixed for several weeks. This time it was the heater and of course it happened as soon as the snow started falling. Figures.

As soon as the heater broke, Ben braved the storm and found a hardware store that was open. He returned with another space heater and a bottle of rum for snowed-in pina coladas. I think I'll keep him.