Christmas was marred slightly by one minor thing: a blizzard hit. We had planned to spend the afternoon with friends, stuffing our faces and shooting whatever bulls wandered into our view, but there was already ice falling from the sky by the time we got there. It turned into a meet-and-greet-and-eat-and-get-the-hell-outta-Dodge.
Considering how bad the roads have gotten since then (the whole area’s pretty much been shut down, as thousands of schoolchildren bemoan the fact that this hit during a time of the year that they were out of school anyway), the haste was not premature.
Little E and Z-Dog watch from the warm safety of the house.
Only an hour into the festivities. We wound up with about half a foot of the stuff.
“Do I have to go out there in that?” No, Maria, never again.
As I write this, Mrs. G is having to stay in a hotel room close to work so she has a fighting chance of getting there tomorrow morning, something that probably wouldn’t have been possible if she’d come home to spend Christmas night with us like she wanted to. You’re a mean one, Mr. Grinch.