Today everyone's modus operandi appears to be to channel as perfectly as possible the spirit of Oscar the Grouch. Not that I blame us: Snow litters the ground like bird poop and won't go away, and it doesn't seem that we'll get enough to surpass the all-time heaviest annual snowfall in Erie recorded history, so I fail to see the point.
On days like these I want nothing more than to sprawl on the couch in voluminous pajamas and fuzzy slippers, watching something rubbishy on TV and picking at the keys of my laptop with a big gourd of yerba mate bubbling on the coffee table and an inscrutable sphinx of a Simon curled up beside me looking like the happiest creature on God's inexplicably white earth, because his Mommy is home and nothing else matters.
Soon...soon.
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