I've spent most of the day plowing the drifts like Wilbur. Only I wasn't doing it for fun. Winter Storm Yona (the dumbest name for a winter storm I have ever heard) has been dumping inches and inches of white on the Upper Peninsula of Michigan all day long, and it's not going to stop until tomorrow morning at 8 a.m. I am tired of snow.
I'm sure that tomorrow morning, around 4 a.m., I'm going to hear the city plows roaring down our street, sending tidal waves of snow into my driveway and yard. Thus far, I have shoveled my house out three times today. 7 a.m., then 1:30 p.m., and finally 7:30 p.m. I will be out there again tomorrow morning after the onslaught of the plows. I am tired of snow.
Yesterday, I had grass and bare sidewalk in front of my house. There were puddles of mud. I could smell the world thawing. Today, I am once again a resident of Narnia, pre-return of that lion who is a symbol for Jesus Christ. I am tired of snow.
Once upon a time, a swimsuit salesman named Ascott lived in Snowvonia, a kingdom of eternal snow. Ascott always stocked the latest swimsuits from the best designers. Versace. Gucci. Christian Dior. Prada. Armani. Every citizen of Snownovia knew that Ascott had the best swimwear in the kingdom. Unfortunately, he never sold a single thing.
Ascott was depressed. He sat in his store, day after day. Nobody ever came in to shop. Every night, he went home, took a sleeping pill, and went to bed. He didn't understand why his business was failing. "Why, oh why," he lamented one day, "can't I sell a swimsuit in this stupid kingdom?"
Suddenly, the Blue Fairy appeared before him.
"Who the hell are you?" Ascott said.
The Blue Fairy said, "I'm here to turn you into a real boy."
Ascott said, "I already am a real boy! I want to sell swimsuits."
The Blue Fairy looked around. "You live in a kingdom named Snowvonia," she said. "I can't work magic."
"But you're a fairy," Ascott said. "You're supposed to grant wishes."
The Blue Fairy laughed. "Wishes I can do," she said. "Too bad you're not made of wood." She took her wand and vanished.
Moral of the story: Snow sucks.
And Saint Marty lived happily ever after.
|Somebody get this guy a pair of trunks|