"You're going to have a rough commute today," announced the bartender this morning. I blew this off and attempted to roll over and go back to sleep. (It turns out I couldn't move, because Kristen was sitting on top of me like a conquering explorer with a look on her face like she was going to yell "I claim this mountain for the United States!" and plant a flag in my hip.) It had snowed all night overnight and was still snowing. I wasn't concerned. After all, I take the train to work like a sane person so how bad could it be? It is this kind of thinking that causes one to fail at life.
In fact, it could be very bad. My four block walk to the train took me 20 minutes. This is because there was a foot of snow on the ground and it was too early for anyone to have shoveled. Also when I got to the train I was exhausted and sweating from the effort. I figure, who needs an exercise plan when you can just walk in feet of snow with a backpack? I reasoned that if I had to do this every day I'd be as skinny as Twiggy. Except for my thighs which would be more like Barbaro (pre glue factory).
I hate snow.