MUTHAFECKAHS. Next time you petulant brow knitting knuckleheads wish for a White Xmas, don't let it be over 6 inches, the damn stuff sneaks into my Timberlands and festers them from the inside. GRR!
I get angry around snow. I don't throw it, I don't play in it or with it, and I certainly will not make a friend out of it and dress it with MY scarf or a carrot. Scarves are for cold humans and the carrots can go in for a nice winter stew or in my case, a rotten meal for my rabbit.
As a Brit, I occasionally talk of nothing but weather just for a bit of crap banter, but on this breaking point, it bites the toes, literally.
My skin is designed for mostly hot climates, thus why God has coated me with a protective gingernut brown and set me off into this world to change only a tinge different from that colour palette.
For instance, in hot temperatures in Pakistan, I would oddly turn a lighter shade and my skin would oust out the imperfections of spots and blemishes. In colder climates like in bitter winds and rain the rings of my eyes and the joints of my fingers go strangely dark and only ever disappear as I sit still in an extremely boiling tub of water. It always feels cold though...
Snow is the visible enemy that nobody in Britain can seem to defeat. It's everywhere yet, nobody can do anything about it. The freaking Poles here are having a laugh at how we're panicking over by firstly running over to Tescos to whole stock buy in case we get snowed in for Xmas.
Every single news headline is about snow, from the sports to the travel to the traffic and well, well, well, there's no point in mentioning the weather.
But when is it going to finish? We're all very happy for it to come around in the festive season, it all goes to plan with the spirit of Xmas but like an annoying aunty or uncle, it's overstayed it's welcome and it is very difficult to shift off to some other hateful country, like France.
Nobody likes the French anyway. Let's all do the charitable thing this year and all send a shovel of snow to France, yay.
