I live in an area where the roads are relatively flat and wide, and the weather is considered overall to be “temperate.” What this means in a Darwinian sense is that our traffic patterns have not yet evolved the necessary characteristics to cope with conditions that provide challenges to the baseline genus and species of driver found in our locality.

Consequently, whenever two (unique and precious) snowflakes find themselves rubbing gently together, the friction from the quantum collision causes a ripple in the space-time continuum which causes the entire area to be blanketed in a fluffy white layer of pure panic.  The streets become clogged, the bottled water and toilet paper disappear from store shelves at speeds that defy everything we understand about physics.  Snowblowers mysteriously become fifty bucks more expensive, yet disappear the same way.  And inevitably, I will discover that in spite of my own defensive grocery stalking, I will have run out of something basic, like soup.

So even if you are a halfway decent driver in the snow (read: not from around here), your best bet is to stay indoors, or keep yourself in the cul-de-sac and do donuts all day, and for the love of Sister Mary Francis, stay the hell off the roads and out of the way of the trucks!  Me…I’m watching out the window as the white death from above falls down and the bluejays puff themselves up with affront because who the hell ordered this snow anyway, when it’s so close to spring.  And for once, I’m with the bluejays.

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