Have I ever mentioned how much I hate the cold? Well, I do. I've never understood that people pay thousands of dollars for a ski vacation when they could be sitting ass on the beach somewhere sipping margaritas. I've been dragged skiing several times in my life and after one turn down the bunny hill, my skiing companions knew they could find me in the lodge, feet up by the fire with hot chocolate laced with Baileys. Then I could say, I can't possibly come back out skiing! I've been drinking! It's dangerous!
I was actually physically assaulted by the metal bar on the bunny hill you are supposed to hold onto. My (not hot -- aren't they supposed to be hot?) ski instructor said he'd never quite seen it before. I was hanging onto the bar for dear life and it was pulling me up the hill. I lost my footing and then just kind of kneeled there. Waiting. Waiting apparently for the next bar to come whack me on the head. Paramedics swarmed and it caused a bit of a ruckus and, well, it was humiliating as I watched 3-year-olds pass me by holding on with one hand and waving to their parents with the other. That's when I decided no more skiing. Ever. Unless Daniel Craig begs me to accompany him to the Swiss Alps. Other than that, no way.
But with the recent snow blanketing our fine city, I knew I couldn't keep the girls from trying out snow balls and freezing their asses off and such. I was hoping they'd hate it as much as me, we'd be out for two minutes and we could make some cocoa and call it a bust. Unfortunately, they loved it. I'm blaming a recent episode of Kipper the Dog where a bunch of animals with English accents all made snow angels and made it look like a lot more fun than it really is. Everything's more fun with an English accent I would imagine.
After the girls realized the temperature was not fit for humans and playing in an alley behind our house was a bit low brow (we live in a condo so we don't have a yard), we high-tailed it inside. And they amused themselves this way:
That's exactly what it looks like. They moved their chairs and little strollers into our shower and begged me to turn on the water. "Shower like Mommy!" they yelled. Right, except Mommy takes off her jammies and doesn't bring her chairs and strollers with her. When I finally talked them out of the shower, they proceeded to tear labels off of every canned good in the pantry. Of course I didn't have the foresight to label the cans with marker so now it's a nice surprise every time I open a can of something or other. Usually other.
Please, God! Make the summer come early!!!