Why I Hate Snow

We received almost a foot of snow on Christmas night.  I don't know exactly when it happened, but I am officially to the point in my life where I hate snow.  Don't get me wrong, I love cold weather because it's the only time of year I am comfortable outside, but snow is really hacking me off.  Here are a few reasons:

1. It messes up the plans I had for Christmas Break. No visiting with Tara, no dinner with friends.  Nothing.
2. What's worse than snow when you already have the time off?  Save that stuff for January or February when I am jonesing for a snow day.
3. I don't have anyone in my household to help me, so if an emergency arises, I have to be a damsel in distress.
4. You have to get snow off of every thing to even begin to think about going anywhere.
5. Delilah, my insane cat, hates snow.  It really freaks her out and she screams and tries to attack me when I come in from outside.

All of this, and a little more, is how I ended up having the traumatic morning that I just survived.  I can't find my snow boots (which are actually muck boots), since I have only worn them to measure discus in the mud pit the last couple of years.  I've looked everywhere, but they are nowhere to be found.  Undeterred, I got bundled up and put on a pair of old Doc Marten's and went out.  The cleaning off of my car wasn't really that bad, if you forget that it's sort of sitting in a snow drift on one side.  However, somewhere in that process, my windshield wiper came apart, and I was not smart enough to put it back together.  I decided this wasn't a big deal and I would just run over and ask one of my neighbors to put it back together before I went anywhere.  

I go back inside to take off my snow covered stuff and what's sitting on the stairs?  A mouse, which Delilah had chased out of the main part of house onto the stairwell.  I stared at the poor little guy for a second or two, and then decided that being the liberated, single woman I was I would take care of it myself.  I opened the door and tried to shoo it out, then found a bucket and tried to convince the little guy to run into it.  Both were disasters, and the poor little guy was just scared and exhausted (and kinda cute, like Gus Gus on Cinderella!).  And so, I ended up going next door and my sweet neighbor, without flinching or questioning, came over and fixed the windshield wiper and took Gus outside and if I had a normal life this would be the end of the story, but I don't.

I took off all my snow clothes, but Delilah could still smell me (and the snow on me) and she began to flip out and try to attack me. Normally, this isn't a big deal and I can ignore her and she will calm down, but not so much today.  She chased me around the house until I could trick her onto the closed-in porch (where her litterbox and food are) and lock her up.  It was a comedy routine of throwing blankets and using a leather briefcase as a shield until that happened.  And I looked like I'd had a full workout, sweat and all.  

And I blame snow for it all.