I want to be able to write something funny about a Texan’s first real blizzard but it’s not my first real blizzard, so I’m going to write about my first real New England blizzard because people here are hilarious and wonderful.
First, let me say that people here are as obsessed with the weather as they are in Texas.  They glue themselves to the TV, Internet and radio every time something interesting or dangerous is in the forecast because people here have a very “I was there” attitude.  When Sandy came through, everyone was talking about Bob and when “Nemo” was forecast (I am against naming winter storms, btw), they were all talking about the blizzard of ’78 and while we might not have broken that record, we got a respectable 26-28 inches at my house.
Which brings me to shoveling.  Shoveling is a grim reality that everyone has to face and no one gets out of it.  It’s like picking up after a tornado.  The only difference is that here, you can help your neighbor with the task but you don’t ask to borrow your neighbor’s snow blower.  That would be like asking a Texan, “How big is your ranch?”  It just isn’t done.  So you can look ruefully across the street at the beautiful work being done in the neighboring driveway but it won’t do you any good, so get back to work and start watching the sales for your own snow blower.
The other thing that happens is that as soon as the governor imposes a state-wide travel ban, people come out of the woodwork crying about how this is a violation of their rights.  I’m sorry, Dunkin Donuts is closed and the Celtics game will probably be postponed because there is a state-wide travel ban
Now that the shoveling is done and most of the streets are passable, it’s time to get back to the day to day.  But wait, why are all you people walking in the street?! The sidewalks are clear but most of the roads are still down to one lane because of the giant piles of snow created by the plows.  Why are aren’t you on the sidewalk?  I don’t understand.
And lastly, snow is only pretty for one day.  Then it’s dis-gus-ting.

The End


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