I forgot about snow. Last year we didn’t really have winter. Winter got sick of all our bitching and complaining and decided to take a vacation, apparently in England. It was away long enough that I actually started to get a little bit nostalgic, thinking about how pretty the first snowfall can be, and how I was excited to get back on my new cross-country skis again.
Then actual snow started happening last week, way earlier than it’s supposed to. I didn’t even get to enjoy the sparkly magic of the first snowfall because we were away in Seattle. I had about ten seconds of excitement on our return where I stepped out of G.’s truck and was all like “Snow!!”, and then my face froze because it was -18 and I had to negotiate my way across a slippery sidewalk in the dark with all of my belongings to unlock my front door, and then somehow deposit everything I was holding far enough away from the door jamb I was standing on so that the snow clinging to my boots wouldn’t melt all over it, while simultaneously trying to pull the door closed to keep the cat in and the asthma-inducing sub-zero air out. Apparently winter took some assertiveness training to boost its self-confidence while it was away, and is now back to tell us all where we can stuff it.
I forgot about how inconvenient snow is, and how much longer it takes to get everything done. I had this nice list of errands I was intending to complete today, the kind of list whose items could easily be checked off during a satisfyingly productive afternoon cycling around downtown. But after trudging home from the gym with great effort through piles of dirty snowdrifts (yes, uphill too, you snarky bastards) I have opted instead to stay at home and feel sorry for myself.
This probably makes me a bad Canadian. But I have a good excuse to hate winter – I am genuinely allergic to the cold. I really am! I wheeze and I get hives. Even fun things like skiing, ice skating and flying suicidally downhill on flimsy sheets of molded plastic can lead to gasping fits of spastic coughing for days afterwards. So I feel I am entitled to gripe about the snow while everyone else clutches their tuques gratefully and hails the return of the prodigal season.