Yesterday, with the help of a neighbor who is a hero, I cleaned off the driveway. I also dug a path to the trash barrels on the side of the house and cleared a path from the street to the fire hydrant. I didn’t clean off the cars. Today I cleaned off the cars.
I hate snow and there was a lot of it. I guess that means there was a lot to hate.
In lieu of flowers, send money to the Red Cross and any Ukrainian charities you can think of.
I went out to shovel. Mr Fat Ass got as far as a path down to the snow bank at the end of the driveway. I was huffing and puffing like a steam engine on it’s last legs and I was thinking maybe I should go in and recover for a bit before having the heart attack that we all know is in my future.
Just then one of my neighbors, who was pushing his snow blower down the street, waves hello and starts in on the huge snow bank. I don’t know the guy’s name. I am not even sure which house he lives in. He has my thanks though. Sincerely. I feel like the dude might have saved me from a really bad night.
I made sure I kept digging and hopefully made it clear that we were in it together, or something like that. He blew away most of the snow bank and a big swath of driveway behind the cars.
We’re going to get slammed tomorrow. I am trying to get a consensus on the snowfall projections. It looks like it’s either 12-18″, 18-24″, or more than 24 inches. Two feet. Crap.
In other words, it’s a Five French Toast Slices storm.
Someone at work today asked if we all had our French Toast supplies (eggs, milk, bread). Someone else sent a link to the French Toast Alert System. I am overwhelmed with glee over having this in my life now.
The site has a storm alert rating based on slices of French Toast:
Tomorrow’s storm is waffling between 4 slices and 5 slices. Either way, Harvey Leonard is happy, and old ladies are getting run over in the supermarket milk section.
It’s chaos out there, and it hasn’t even started yet.