Well, here we are, living in the new Ice Age, Atlanta-style. That means we have plenty of milk and bread. I wasn’t in town when the preparations were made, so I’m kind of afraid to check on the status of the toilet paper. Not too worried, though, cuz you know, this too shall pass.
BAHAHAHA. Sorry. I’m getting slap happy. Or stir crazy. Or whatever you people in really cold places call it. I might be calling it murder if things don’t loosen up soon.
Anyway, I digress. I intended to post about the beautiful snow and some darling little pictures of our dog romping around in the back yard and the scarlet hues of the cardinals as they eat from our feeder. You know, the quaint stuff that makes you feel all warm and fuzzy.
And then the damn dog peed in my foyer, evidently because she is displeased with exposing her delicate butt to the formerly fluffy snow now glazed with about an inch of hard, cold ice. She fell. I almost fell. In the end, I was pissed (heh, heh-heh) but I understood. I had a rather shocking wake up this morning when I went for my morning…ablutions.
Yesterday, the snow was fresh, the excitement was contagious, and I didn’t have to work. I used my morning for housekeeping and cooking, and then played all afternoon.
Today I haven’t changed out of my pajamas. I’m not even wearing a bathrobe. I didn’t brush my hair, instead, putting it up in a top knot. I look a little bit like a Sumo Wrestler so I will consider my husband’s feelings and go get dressed.
I sat through the View.
I think this is how people get depressed.
Rumor has it more of the same tomorrow. It seems that the city is unable to recover, not from the snow, but the ice that has sandwiched it. If so, I think I’ll get up and wear a suit around the house.
It may be the only thing inspiring me to avoid Jerry Springer.
