I mean, it’s probably a Universal Law.
Maybe the Law of Averages, or Murphy’s Law or even your Uncle Duncan’s Law of Reverse Reciprocity 1, I don’t really know, but there undoubtedly is a universal constant describing the phenomenon, one that explains it down to a fare-thee-well.
These snow haters would probably defy expectations 2: there must be as least as many viperous single attractive blonde women, as least as many white-haired, rotund and cherry cheeked grandmas who detest winter’s dustings as there are wrinkled, wart-faced and smelly old curmudgeons who curse the snow beneath their rancid bourbon breath.
These snow haters are probably your neighbors, the ones who appeared slightly aghast two winters ago on Christmas Eve when (during the big snowfall that impelled your husband to frantically rummage round in the garage until he rediscovered his childhood toboggan) you invited them along to brave the local Suicide Hill. 3
A snow hater may well be that well-dressed businessman awaiting the city bus who, yeah, sure, loves snow on Christmas cards, I mean who doesn’t right?, but is totally unnerved by the actual eerie silence of snow, the supernatural hush that feels like the advent of something ominous, of something ending. The flakes drifting downward remind him of nothing so much as nuclear fallout. 4 Plus, it’s totally fucking with his hair.
Your long-time partner, even now nestled so cozily beside you, may be a snow hater. As you gently ‘tink’ together your warm cognac snifters and gaze out the frosted panes at the blowing thunder snow, she snuggles in closer and (being double sure to only use her “inside” voice) muses, “Why snow, why that one? Why not rain? Huh? No one ever says “Oh, let’s go play in the rain!” do they? There’s a perfectly good reason for that – it’s freaking wet! Well snow’s the same, damnit! I’m NOT going out in that shit, I don’t care how fucking romantic he says it is.”
It most certainly has to be the occasional weatherperson (perhaps even the HOT ONE on Channel Whatevah) forced to stand against the green screen, a grim ear-to-ear rictus affixed as she promises, PROMISES!, that the snow she had predicted over the last 3 days, the snow that’s not here yet, will indeed arrive today, sometime, PROMISE! Then, when the snow arrives, her job ostensibly done (I predicted snow, here it is.), that worthy still has to yammer on and on and on and on all day long that, YES!, it’s still bloody snowing. This to a nonexistent viewing audience as they’re all outside playing, reading or screwing before a blazing fire, taking a long hot soaking bath, ANYTHING but watching the local news. Yes, she bloody well despises snow. 5
It may even be you.
Perhaps you have no inkling as to why people suddenly lose their minds when they spot snow. For how can it be possible a well adjusted individual would believe a logical response to snow would be to cup an extra-large handful between their palms, pack it tightly together (maybe sneaking in a small rock as well), then dust off the random flakes so they’re left with a tidy, roundish…what? I’ll tell you what, a goddamned weapon, that’s what. That they intend to throw at you! Mostly likely directly at your head. Seriously? Throwing snow, shoving snow down your sweater, pushing you down into the snow? Does that sound like fun? Really? What the fuck. I mean, WHAT THE FUCK!!??
There must be people who loathe snow, right? 6
- Which, while too long to go into the details of which here, has to do with cutting off your nose to spite your face. ↩
- Indubitably yet another Law. ↩
- Certainly in retrospect their claim of a sudden onset of shingles seemed odd, especially for people still in their 20s. ↩
- Well, he’s pretty sure they remind him of that. At least, that’s his memory of what fallout looks like based on that old TV movie about Kansas City getting nuked. You know the one, with Richard Chamberlain and Cher…or was it Ed Asner? In any event fallout looked JUST like this!. ↩
- And probably all weather, come to that. ↩
- Not the Astas. They’ve were up before first light. Asta has measured the snow four times with the following results: 7:00 AM – a light dusting; 8:00 Am – 2″; 9:00 AM – 5″; 10:00 AM – 7″; as I write – 9″. (All measurements performed with a classic 12″ wooden ruler issued to me back in 19somethingsomething.) Asta Jr has inadvertently created several snowmen à la Bill Watterson. Later, once the city crews catch up a bit, we’ll brave the dozen snow-packed streets and motor over to Suicide Hill. Followed by hot chocolate with whipped cream, hot dogs and mac & cheese, a roaring fire, a couple of books, maybe a nap. What’s to hate? ↩