By request: My Bruce Willis moment

I was in PJs and bare feet making an omelet on the stove. The morning coffee had just finished brewing.

I slid the perfectly bronzed fold of egg and cheese to a plate and placed it on the counter to cool for a second while I finished emptying the dishwasher. I opened the cabinet and the door came right off the hinge, crashing down to the counter and shattering/ scattering a bunch of wines glasses.

So now I'm toes to the floorboard with a wide semicircle of shardy, pointy glass pieces on the floor behind me. Trapped. There was also glass dust all over the counter and that put my omelet into question. Whatever came next was guaranteed to be a pain in the ass, all I wanted to do was eat my breakfast first.  So I examined the eggs. Played a little 'Is it salt or is it glass dust?'

 Eventually I ate the omelet.  It was ok.

Leaping across the floor was out, as was climbing on the counter.  I couldn't reach the dish towel or the broom.  I did throw some silverware at both objects and that was useless. Then I spotted some large Tupperware containers, wore them like shoes and shuffled to safety.

On my triumphant step out of the Tupper-shoes I stepped on a small piece of glass and I left a few tiny blood prints on the floor- my Bruce Willis moment.  

Introducing the Snow-o-meter

From left to right here is the Snow-o-meter:

Practically beach weather:

Let's face it, the weather forecasters

almost never get it right.  We all know the jokes.  Sometimes when they call for a blizzard we end up with sunny and clear.   

Bread and milk:

The irrational New England phenomenon of hoarding food and supplies before a snow storm.  I'm talking full parking lots and lines from the checkout lanes down the actual shopping aisles.  Total panic city. In my thirty odd years I've yet to be completely snowbound.  I think its all just a conspiracy between the news stations and the supermarkets. Hello! Domino's Pizza!  Expect two inches tops.

Fun snow:

Oh fun snow, how I once loved thee.  I remember when I was a kid nothing was cooler than playing in the snow.  I'd run out of the house with my mother trying to put a hat on  my head and I would roll, sled, throw and wade through that fluffy white stuff until I was dragged back inside for dinner.  I'm still a polar bear at heart, but even I now dread that five minutes in the morning waiting for the car to warm up watching my breath fog up the windows.  What a difference time makes.

War with the plow folk:

This is when you get six inches or more of snow.  Not only do you have to shovel the stairs and sidewalk but in addition to the mound of snow on your car the plow people have left you an impenetrable four foot wall of snow along the side of your car.  The best part of this is the knowledge that after you clear it away eventually the plow will bring it back.

Freaking buried:

This is when you get a foot or more of snow.  It is rare.  This is calling out of work, heart attack level snow shoveling territory. During storms like this if you wait long enough you might see an abominable snow person stroll by your second floor window.  

 This is what I woke up to today.  I opened the door and there was a foot of snow slanted across the porch.  The plow people hadn't even bothered to swing by.  Those humps of snow out there are cars, they look like igloos with no doors.  Total snowpocalypse.