Mostly True Memoirs
I Hate The Snow a Whole Lot Less This Year
I hate the snow a whole lot less, I have discovered, when I have working utilities.
I didn’t mind so much chatting outdoors with the neighbors in the bone-chilling cold while my feet were getting wet because I knew I would return to my well-heated home, turn on the lights, find dry socks, throw the wet socks in the dryer, and warm myself with a hot cup of coffee.
That was awful.
We had no lights, no heat, and no water.
Today it has warmed up, and the snow has mostly melted.
Except in the shady corners of the property.
Blue has found every single shady corner.
That dog is determined to wring every last little bit of fun that she can out of the snow.
Now it’s mostly mud.
And it’s all over my floors.
I keep mopping, and she keeps tracking it in.
I have begged the family to keep the doggie door closed.
That way we can clean her up before she comes into the house.
They keep opening up the doggy door.
“It’s a beautiful day,” they say, as if that somehow justifies the mud.
Yes, it’s a beautiful day.
I would prefer to keep the beautiful day outside.