When I fell asleep last night (note I didn’t say went to bed), the world outside was wet and foreboding, much like that giant log flume at the amusement park when you were 5.
When I woke up this morning, everything last thing as far as the eye could see was encased in ice. It seems Mother Nature wanted to teach me not to complain about rainy days in January instead of getting "real" winter, so She gave me a taste of both.
For the record, diminutive half-beagle/half-Chihuahua dogs like mine don’t much care for walking on ice-crusted lawns. Apparently it made her paws all cold and offended her delicate sensibilities. Believe me, you haven’t really lived until you’ve seen a small dog hove her back end in the air somehow while taking care of the morning business.
Where was I? Right, the world was, well, is encased in ice. Which means all the Big Weekend plans have officially been cancelled for today. The Puddinpop’s afternoon basketball game was called, the Puddinette’s standard Saturday trip to "The Store" –which somehow always becomes about 4 stores – is postponed, and we’re all basically stuck in the house looking at each other, waiting for someone to snap first.
Of course, I see this as a particularly fine opportunity to slip in one of those legendary 3-4 hour winter afternoon naps, but it seems my better half hath declared that since we’re going to be just hanging around anyway, we might as well clean up around the house.
As you can imagine, this plan was met with nothing but boundless enthusiasm.
But I digress.
I suspect we’ll compromise on someplace in between an afternoon of utter, shiftless laziness and one of immeasurable productivity.
My money’s still on the nap, though.
Later on, I’m going to slow cook some beef within an inch of it’s life in a hearty barley stew. If I’m lucky, I’ve got a Guinness squirreled away someplace to cook with.
Either way, odds are good that between dinner and the big fire I’m about to build, we’ll all survive Icepocalypse 2012.
If your Saturday plans too have been waylaid by an icy cocoon, may your hearths be warm and your cocoa sweet. And try not to slip and crack your coccyx when you go to check the mail.
In fact, why not just forget about the mail?
Wouldn’t you rather take that nap, anyway?