But as I saw a snowflake lazily drifting down from the sky yesterday, I couldn't help but remember one of our countless sleepovers from elementary school.
Fatty came over for the afternoon in a snowstorm which was naturally, for two little kids, VERY exciting.
Her parents sent her along with an extra set of clothes, because the weather forecast predicted a blizzard. "Pshaw!", said our nine year old selves. Weather forecasts were for old people. We'd believe this snow when we SAW it.
We were surprisingly cynical and well dressed for elementary school students.
In any case, we occupied ourselves for the evening with the things that little 9 year old girls do.
We may have been slightly different than your average 9 year old girls. But we've come to terms with that. Eventually, we hungered. We snuck into the kitchen, much like the secret agents I assume we were pretending to be.... and then we saw the door to the deck.
At least a solid two feet of snow were packed up against the sliding glass door.
"I don't think you'll be having school tomorrow.", said Fatty. (It didn't matter for her either way, Fatty was home-schooled.) From that point on, we made plans for the following morning. Oh, did we make plans!
At some point we both passed out due to tandem sugar comas, and when we woke up the next morning, there was a glorious three and a half feet of snow. That's as tall as WE were.
We climbed on top of the 6 feet mound on the side of my driveway that my dad had shoveled, bless his heart. I proceeded to take two steps, and then sunk in up to my neck, finally understanding the fear that a cat must experience when being dangled above a bathtub. I had to be pulled out by both my dad AND Fatty. So thank goodness for them.
Later on after a full afternoon of frolicking through the snow banks, my dad was snow-blowing the sidewalk (which is still strange to me, because we didn't own one). We were tired and cold, but we'd be damned if we were going to go back inside during the most glorious snow day of our LIVES.
I was JUST about to give up and go back inside, when Fatty peeked around the corner of a snow bank, beckoning for me. The snow bank was apparently enveloping my mailbox, but my dad had shoveled it out so that the mail truck could get to it. He unknowingly made a snow cave juuuuust big enough for two little fatties to snuggle in and get warm.
We were in there for ages, just laughing and watching woefully unprepared drivers skid around the road.
Love you, Fatty!
