Well, I've been snowed in, of course. Yes, in Alabama.
I know, right? I could hardly believe it myself. But it was gorgeous and perfect and giddy-making.
The flakes fell like Champagne bubbles on rewind, fast enough to make you laugh
but slow enough you thought you just might be able to catch one.
Living as we do, deep in sweltering summer territory, we weren't quite sure what to make of this particular type of humidity.
But once we'd warmed up to the idea,
and determined that it meant that most hallowed of all days, a snow day, we were pretty jazzed about it.
Especially because all that pretty precipitation could only mean one thing: SNOW PARTY.
The sheer awesomeness was almost more than we could fully understand.
But we did our level best to whoop it up.
We donned our sweats and drank our wine and wagged our tails and ate Fritos dipped in chili.
Yeah, that might have been a mistake. But then we had the most incredible epiphany of all: Snow day Friday means an extra-long weekend.
And that might have been the greatest gift of all.
Also, there was Valentine's Day. I was curled up by a warm fire, sipping wine and watching the snow drift with the one I love.
Whatchoo lookin' so suspicious about, woman?
Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to sound so testy. I could never stay cross with you. What's that you say? "Owl be your Valentine?"
Oh, Stella. You're a hoot.