late for dinner

Yesterday was the first big storm of the year and the snowflakes were feisty. That's right, feisty.

They were barbed, I swear. Like tiny forks tenderizing my face. It hurt. They encrusted themselves to my chic cashmere toque, like a frozen plate of armour. Even my eyelashes had snowflake crusties. It wasn't pretty. And it was tiring walking through this mini blizzard.

By the time I got home, my face was devoid of feeling. You'd think I would have taken advantage of my already frozen state and gone out to shovel the drive right away.


Well...  I:

1) made myself some chai
2) watched some Olympics
3) answered my emails
4) thought about having a proper dinner, but
5) snacked on party mix instead
6) advised my friend on how to avoid a poorly set up blind date

It was around 9 pm that I thought: I should probably shovel.

So out I went, with a belly full of spiced tea and baked-not-fried party mix. Not a good combination, I might add. I cleared what I could, threw down some environmentally-friendly snow melter and was back inside in 45 minutes. Too late to eat a real dinner now, I thought, so I finished some leftover coleslaw. Talk about bad combinations. I paid for my poor menu choices today. Ugh.

So what did I learn from all this? Nothing, except that shovelling is no party. But I already knew that.