The Story of My Life

I'm the girl at the office that never knows the weather unless it's going to snow. Because I don't care about the weather unless it includes the potential for a paid snow day. Today, several coworkers tried to burst my bubble and tell me there was no chance of snow. They were wrong:

It may not look like a lot. Especially if you live somewhere that gets snow more than once a year. But just roll with me. There's snow. It's cold. Where I live that's enough to potentially close my building tomorrow.

Oh, wait. Hear that noise? That's irony raking fingernails down a chalkboard. Because I have a date with destiny in the form of a work related matter that has to be taken care of tomorrow. Do or die. The entire city could be on lock down and I swear to you my boss will be blowing up my cell phone to explain why I'm going to have to dig my way out with a teaspoon and hike uphill 10 miles through the snow to get to the office to make sure it gets taken care of. Because her boss' boss will have already blown up her cell phone to explain how the sky will open up and swallow the office whole if we don't. I'm not even joking about the cell phones blowing up. It's an exceptionally time sensitive matter. It's also the opposite of optional. It is the story of my life that it may fall on a snow day.

As it is, the matter is wildly unpopular and will require arm twisting to get anyone to agree to do it. So how the hell am I supposed to get anyone to drive into the office on a paid day off to do it? Right. The odds of that happening are so slim I'm actually rooting against a snow day. Which means the apocalypse must be upon us because there can be no other rational explanation for the queen of snow days rooting against a snow day.

At least my husband is amusing. While I was outside taking that photo of the snow, he mooned me out our front window. Here he is afterwards looking proud of his cleverness:

Here's part 2 of his cleverness when he decided to lock me out in the cold:

He pulled his shirt up over the lower half of his face to increase the "I'm a raving lunatic" quotient of the shot. You'd be amazed how high that quotient is without any effort on his part. For example, I wish there was a photo of him pretending to unlock the door and laughing when I fell for it and tried the doorknob. But that's okay. Because every minute I spend outside is just an extra minute he gets to cuddle me until I warm up. Lucky him.