I hate snow. I really do. I didn’t used to hate it as a child. It was only mildly annoying because I’d have to put on shoes and a coat (though that was nice because I didn’t have to comb my hair). Yes, snow is fun to play in and beautiful at times to behold. Problem is that no matter how you dress up, it’s cold, and I don’t like being cold. I’ve never liked being cold. Give me heat any time!
Heat brings to mind sandy beaches, romance, and a stack of new books waiting for me to read. Cold is hands too frozen to unzip my coat. With toes that resemble chunks of ice. Snow is big puffy coats and gloves that make us look like the rotund Michelin tire mascot or the giant Stay Puft Marshmallow Man, the nemesis in the movie Ghostbusters. (Of course, marshmallows remind me of hot chocolate, which I love, but I’d rather sip hot chocolate from a mug at a beach condo than from a thermos at the ski resort any day.)
As a parent of teens, my dislike of snow has now evolved into open animosity. Some days I can be seen shaking my fist at the falling flakes as I stand freezing on the porch. Why? I’ll give you one hint: driving and teens. Have you ever waited up wondering if your child was going to make it home from work or school through the storm? Have you ever passed your son booking carelessly down a hill that is so slippery for your car can’t even make it to the top. Have you ever driven with a daughter who seems to have no consciousness of the speed limit? If so, you’ll hate snow too—at least until they’re all grown up and gone from home. If you have six children like me, that’ll be right about the time you’ll start worrying about slipping on the ice and breaking a hip.