My friend Jazz told me, before I left for the Great White North (otherwise known as "home"), that I was required, in order to remain her friend, to make a snowman. And of course, I have absolutely no desire to do that sort of thing...AND the snow is too new. Too soft...too...something...it won't stick.
So I made a snow angel. Or seven.
I know what you're thinking...and yes, it is definitely WAY colder to make a snow angel than to make a snowman...however, when you head out into the "city" to "shop" and it is 7 degrees outside...and then you end up in a bar...titled "BAR"...at 2pm...you tend to feel that you are invincible.
And when your entire family picks you up and takes you to the family restaurant of your younger years (where you had a field trip in kindergarten), naturally you feel the need to run to the back of the building where the snow is untouched with your drunk sister (AKA Fish Head) and make as many tracks as you possibly can before getting herded back to the car (read: yelled at while you laugh hysterically and drop your only lighter into a pile of snow..."snow lighter".) Naturally. I mean...really? Who wouldn't be tempted to be a complete arse in the snow behind Jim's Pizza in the middle of nowhere? WHO?! Not me and FH...we want to be arses whenever possible. Mission accomplished.
SO...when we got back to the Grandparents' after the decorating of the VFW (for the 50th Anniversary Party), we immediately zipped up our huge coats and the one glove each that we hadn't managed to lose, and ran out into the backyard to make snow angels...Yep.
Snow angels, Jazz...Bite me. Snow is cold. And I had a wet ass. Bastard.