Thank you for blanketing my Pontiac with nine inches last night. I will shovel you off tomorrow. Or the next day. Or, actually, who cares, because you won’t get off the roads for anyone for the rest of the week anyway.
Thank you for giving me the chance to paint my sister’s toenails. You made it possible for her to sit in one spot without shoes on for longer than 10 minutes, which is, truly, some kind of a miracle.
Thank you for lowering the temperature in my bedroom to 60 before bed, too. My raging head cold fever and soaked hair fresh from the shower really buttered my slippers.
Thank you for giving me the time to paint an entire canvas yesterday. I went six hours straight on it, and my bottom end is still soar from the wooden stool I sat it upon. Shania Twain was on repeat the whole time.
Also, thank you for giving my nephew the stomach flu, the dog a broken neck, and my favorite fish a death sentence. I know the cold can’t bring these things directly, but I’d like to think you had something to do with one of them.
Thank you for the chance to sleep in and watch mindless Vine compilations on YouTube all day today. You have given me the gift of lounging with, as the kids today would say, no ragrets.
Thank you for making me online shop again. As much as I hate spending virtual cash, I just couldn’t live without that mini skirt helping me beat the cabin fever. It won’t come in for two weeks.
And thank you for giving me the idea to write this for my blog. I need semi-quality content to get people to at least kind of pay attention to me.
Thank you, snow.