Eight to Eighteen

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Miller and me have another thing in common:

We hate the snow.

The thing about it is that the cat doesn’t blame anyone but us when something goes wrong, and while he absolutely loves to go outside he’s not gonna’ do it with snow on the ground.

The lake effect snow warning ⚠️ started sounding on Tuesday and Christmas Eve through Christmas Day was the target.

We got it. About 6-8 inches here at Camp Clifford and neither me or Miller were celebrating.

“I’m dreaming of a white Christmas?” Whoever wrote it must’ve been high.

“A bright, sunny day for 18,” one of our Florida Twitter buddies announced. 

(No, not he who shall never be mentioned).

“You lucky bastard!” I answered.

Golf on Christmas morning would be a blast.

Yet, here’s the thing:

I don’t actually mind a snowstorm if I’m home and so is everyone else.

But you know how the kids are.

“I’m going to my girlfriend’s house.”

“Bah! Now? Why don’t you stay home?”

“I’ll be all right.”

I don’t ever want to drive in blizzard like conditions ever again.

I suppose it may happen because I live in Buffalo and I distinctly recall screaming to the inside of my car last time:

“I DON’T WANT TO DIE IN A BLIZZARD!”

So, Miller just looked at me after he decided against venturing out into the snow.

His wailing siren went off. 

Just Miller crying.

“WAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!”

“Suck it up, Mildew,” I said. “It’s 2020!”

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