Hey, Mutha Nature? Wat up beyotch? I keep hearing all over the television that you women of a certain age have tight and unyielding bowels (just ask Jamie Lee Poo Poo Yogurt). So why then, do you continue to "dump" the snowy contents of your intestines all over the greater NYC area on a weekly basis? Spike the Hotness Monster has had to to dip the former home of his manly nuggets in a snow bank to do his business for the past three weeks. Every day I find him hanging from the side lights of our front door like a striped cat-sicle (see figure 1 below).
Your latest offering, bestowed upon us this morning, has gifted us with a delay in school opening and the delightful prospect of trying to drive to work in this mess. At this point, I am thinking that you are going out of your way to harsh my gig. One only needs to look back at your first snowstorm of the season, in which you inconveniently shat two feet of snow on our little town, the night before we were scheduled to leave for Atlantic City. You underestimated me though, as while it took a little longer than planned to get there, my rump still managed to be parked at (alternatively) a bar stool and slot machine the following night. Don't test me, bitch.
Bitter and resentful of your inability to stop my own personal fun train, you gave us another two feet two weeks later. This was obviously the result of some kind of menopausal midweek bender. Tsk. Tsk. A woman of your "maturity" should know that we don't process the booze as elegantly as we did in our twenties. The result of this petulant act? A snow day for the kids and a sanctioned work from home for me. Ha! In your facial, harpy!
Today however, you might have me over a barrel. School has a delayed opening and there's not enough snow not to go into the office, but there is enough to make getting to the office dangerous and slow going. Well I'm here to tell you that it isn't over between you and me. You may knock me down with this round, but you can't knock me out. And remember, I took the first two rounds and there are many more left in the season.
My prediction? One of us will face the spring on crutches, missing a couple of teeth. My recommendation? Better put your dentist and your orthopedist on speed dial.