Dear Snowpocalypse Diary,

Saturday, December 8, 2018 (Morning)

Dear Snowpocalypse Diary, 

I am eagerly awaiting your arrival. Our local meteorologist says we’ll have between two and four inches of something he calls wintry mix. To me, wintry mix sounds like a minty version of Chex Mix. Two to four inches of that in my yard sounds heavenly.  Meteorologically speaking, though, wintry mix is a combination of snow, sleet, and rain. Boooooooooooo.

Now, if you know me, you know that I am ceaselessly optimistic, hopelessly positive, your very own ray of saccharine sunshine. So, despite a forecast of wintry mix, I am focusing on the good stuff. Snow.  We’re just going to have snow. Fluffy, puffy, magical snow. 

I’ve baked cookies in exuberant anticipation of your visit. Soup is bubbling away on the stove. The fire is lit. We’re ready, snow. Go ahead, girl. Cast your spell on us. 

Saturday, December 8, 2018 (Afternoon)

It’s been raining for hours now with no sign of you, luscious snow. It’s ok, girl. I haven’t lost hope. I’ve got my fluffy socks on. My soup smells amazing. I’ve eaten almost every single cookie I baked and now I have wicked heartburn. My husband has moved one of the gaming consoles downstairs so that he can battle our son (who is upstairs) in Fortnite and I can’t escape the screaming. I’ve had to tell the dog 6, no 7, times to STOP EATING THE GODDAMN CHRISTMAS TREE. But, really, it’s ok. I’m ready for you, girl. 

Saturday, December 8, 2018 (Evening) 

Today I’ve only consumed coffee, cookies, and soup. That’s it. Nothing else. Coffee, cookies, soup. Coffee, cookies, soup. And repeat. It’s still raining. My husband and son have been playing Fortnite for hours. I don’t even know where the dog is and I’m not entirely sure we still have a Christmas tree. Where the fuck are you, snow?!?!?!?

Sunday, December 9, 2018 (Morning) 

At the first break of dawn, I slowly slid out of bed, crossed my fingers, and peeked through the blinds to see the white carpet Mother Nature so graciously laid out especially for me. 

Seriously, girl.?I made you soup. 

And, nothing. A few measly specks of snow. Sleet piling up on the patio table. Rain. Rain. More rain. 

Seriously, girl? I made you soup. I baked you cookies and this is how you do me? 

The dog is eating the Christmas tree! I can’t escape Fortnite! I hate stupid Lifetime Christmas movies but that’s the only thing on TV! Where the fuck is my snow?!?!?!

Sunday, December 9, 2018 (Afternoon)

Everything is frozen. It’s 32˚ F and it’s still raining. Our window for snow is basically over, but the rain is going to continue through Monday afternoon. All I can think of is that movie The Ice Storm and now I’m worried I’ll have to attend a key party and sleep with one of my neighbors’ husbands. So, I’ve decided I won’t answer the door until everything melts. Maybe I’ll just bake some more cookies. 

Sunday, December 9, 2018 (Evening)

Thankfully, no one in the neighborhood has come to ask me to have an orgy with them. Aside from the morality issue, this is the second day in a row I’ve eaten nothing but soup, cookies, and coffee. My body’s not exactly orgy ready, ya know? Since I’m not having an orgy with my neighbors, I’m watching The Queen. That movie didn’t take place during Christmas so I’ll never know if Her Majesty’s corgis ate her Christmas tree like mine does. 

And there’s no snow in sight. None. Not a flake. Mother Nature has betrayed me. But my local weatherman sure as hell knows his stuff, huh?

Monday, December 10, 2018 (Morning. Or Afternoon. No, it’s morning.)

I woke up to the sound of rain. Rain. Again. And screaming about Fortnite. Again. This is why mothers eat their young. Do mothers also eat their spouses? And their dogs? I’m officially sick of soup and cookies. I need to mix things up. 

I’ve been in this house since Friday. I’m starting to crack. Thankfully this all should end by the afternoon. My husband will go back to work tomorrow. And after I throw every last game console, phone, and computer in this house into a river I will never have to hear about Fortnite again. 

Monday, December 10, 2018 (Later in the morning, I think, but I don’t know anymore. Time is an irrelevant manmade construct. Help me.) 

It’s fucking snowing. I am not lying. There are motherfucking flakes of icy magic falling from the damn sky and melting immediately upon hitting the ground because SNOWPOCALYPSE IS A LIE!!!!

The roads are safe now. I think I’m going to get in the car and drive away to an undisclosed location, preferably one where the temperatures never dip below 75˚F and the ocean is within walking distance. Don’t tell my family where I am until spring. 

Oh, and Mother Nature, if you’re reading, you and I will meet one day. And when we do, I will have this weekend permanently etched on my brain. So watch your back, girl.