I prefer seasons with grass, if that’s what you’re asking

Dear Snow,

It’s over. Seriously, I mean it this time. Get out of my life. Yes, I remember the good old days, how you were my favorite kind of weather, but that was years ago; you’re not the fun, carefree precipitation you used to be, and I’m certainly not so young anymore. The look you see on my face, when I look out the window and see you waiting outside the building, is not one of wonder, but of mounting anger. You stopped being wondrous around the time I stopped sledding. I don’t even own a sled anymore, you know that. So stop following me! God!

The other day was the last straw. What did you think you were doing, draping yourself all over my car? Who are you, Tawny Kitaen? I don’t even like Whitesnake.

Snow, it’s March now. It has been months. If you don’t get a grip and leave me alone, I will call the plow guy. Don’t think I won’t.

Not even kidding,
Heather

Advertisements

Leave a comment

Filed under Heather

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s