Sometime around 8:30 this morning, I rolled over and looked out the window. Or, rather, I looked at the snow piled up on my windowsill. I grabbed my phone off my desk and snapped a picture of it, thinking, Damn, maybe this really was the storm of the century the news folks hyped it up to be?
All day long yesterday, the media warned us about the Godzilla of snowstorms. Never mind the economy, war, and Barbie’s fiftieth birthday (may her knockers sink to her knees), it was going to snow! In New England! In March! Stock up on milk, candles, and bottled water, because we were going to die! I scoffed at the warnings. Judging from the view out my bedroom window, however, perhaps I should have bought some comestibles.
I got out of bed and wandered into the living room to check things out. Sigh. While snow drifts covered parts of my windows, the scene below revealed that it had snowed only a bit. In New England. The snow we’d had before had melted away, and so the snow isn’t even all that deep. Mabye six inches. I felt ashamed for having momentarily believed the hoopla.
Seriously, folks. I really do hope you enjoyed the snow day. There’s nothing better. But my god. This is New England. It snows here! Every winter! This isn’t news. Get out there, shovel the stairs. Dig out your car if you have one. Complain away. If you drive, don’t be an asshole. But with everything going on in the world right now, a few flakes falling in New England does not news make.