Wednesday, January 28, 2009
I have never really enjoyed snow. I know a lot of people do, and I do understand why. It's white, pretty, and cold like Keira Knightley. And it is rather peaceful to sit at your window first thing in the morning and watch the snow fall. It covers your sidewalk. It covers the cars across the street. It covers the body of the homeless person who froze to death in your driveway. Eventually, it's just hills of white as far as the eye can see.
Later, you can get bundled up in your best pair of thermal snowpants and go sledding. Or build a snowman. Or roll around and make snow angels. Or hide the body of your best friend who met his untimely demise with the business end of a snow shovel. There is certainly fun to be had in the winter if you possess the ability to have fun.
I, however, do not possess that ability. I find snow to be inconvenient, cold, and prone to hitting me in the face and getting caught in my eyelashes. And then there were the terrible experiences I've faced that involved snow. Allow me to tell you my story.
I was traveling through the Yukon territory with only a large husky for company. It was 75 below zero. And I needed to build a fire really badly. (I should have listened to the man from Sulphur Creek, I tell you. But oh, no, I was too stubborn.) I dropped my matches in a snow drift. And then my hands and feet went numb. So I thought about killing the dog and putting my hands in his entrails for warmth. But, alas, my hands were useless stumps by then, and then I went to sleep for a long, long time. It was a very, very unfortunate experience that left me quite scarred. I refuse to visit the Yukon ever again. Mostly because of the snow.
I suppose my next terrible experience could best be described as "a plane crash in the Andes that resulted in me and a few companions being forced to feed on the bodies of our fallen comrades" because it was in fact a plane crash in the Andes that resulted in me and a few companions being forced to feed on the bodies of our fallen comrades. I don't recommend the experience to anyone and would really rather not discuss any further. All I will say is that snow is to blame.
And then this other time, I was hired as caretaker of this secluded mountain hotel. And there was a lot of shenanigans involving a topiary and an oversized mallet. And I started drinking again and seeing naked dead people in bathtubs, and it was just a whole big mess. In retrospect, I was not the best caretaker. And since I was totally snowed in for months and months, it's no wonder that I went a little crazy and burned the whole place down. (Yes, burned it down. If you say anything about getting lost in a topiary maze and freezing to death, I'll burn you down too. Ahem.)
So, as you can see, snow is nothing but trouble for me. Which is why I would really rather be at home under my covers and not outside on a day when death may be found under those 3-4 inches of accumulation.
Who wants hot chocolate and some of this meat I just barbecued? Anybody? No?