So the big ol’ blizzard that everyone said was going to trample the Northeast and destroy our way of life wasn’t so mean about it after all. This is a good thing, because now I don’t have to eat my shoes to stay alive, which was something I wasn’t fully prepared to do in the first place. (I just got these really chic-looking black ankle boots.) But it’s also a bad thing for the same reason that everyone was a little sad when they woke up this morning: We were all hoping to not have to go back to the office for at least a week. Juno (the blizzard’s name, says the National Weather Service) knew this. I know she knew this. And yet she did nothing about it because she is a capitalist pig.
But fine, I’ll take a single snow day.
And an aside:
On most days of the year, living with your parents as an adult is a test of strength. On snow days, not so. The Day family has a clearly gendered division of labor whereby I am not required to perform most types of manual labor, including lifting a snow shovel. That’s men’s work, and I doth protest not at all. (Shakespeare) I am simply responsible for taking a hot chocolate order by shouting from the front door (while still in my pajamas). My mom uses snow, or any kind of inclement weather for that matter, as an excuse to produce copious amounts of baked desserts, so there’s that too. I am a teeny bit fatter than I was yesterday in the best way possible.
So if anyone ever judges me for being a 28 year old gal kickin’ it in her childhood bedroom, I will merely recite the paragraph above.
Also, I hope this post finds you well. (Mom)