Ice Ice Baby

I have a love+hate relationship with snow. It’s like I have LOVE tattooed on one hand and HATE on the other.

On the hand with LOVE tattooed on the knuckles, I like it when it’s coming down and everything is blanketed in white. I like the crispness in the air and I can wear my sweaters and long coat. I have plenty of fond memories of jumping into five foot drifts off my next door neighbor’s fence and roof. I made plenty of snow forts and had snowball fights with all the neighborhood kids. I even remember playing Luke Skywalker on Hoth, walking in the snow pretending Obi-Wan was leading me to Han Solo.

On the other hand (HATE on the knucks, natch), I hate driving in snow and ice. I hate wearing gloves. I will never wear boots or long underwear again. I hate scraping snow and ice off my car. Frozen snot is not a good look.

As I write this, we are getting dumped on with the white stuff. I’m going to wake up in the morning and see six to eight inches of snow. LOVE/HATE.

I wonder if I’d enjoy being someplace where it never snows like Florida or the west coast. Would I miss it?