I hate snow. When you live in a place like DC—that hardly gets any snow and when it finally does we have none of the basic infrastructure or physical conditioning to deal with it—who doesn’t HATE snow? My dog is convinced that snow comprises both magic white powder and evil greenish rock salt that burns his feet. The snow gives him superpowers of running and jumping, and the salt takes them away like kryptonite. Extended snow time also transforms otherwise ambitious members of society into couch-bound sloths that can do nothing but watch HBO and surf reddit all evening.
Like when Imaginary Fiancé and I started to “reorganize” (i.e. completely demolish and rebuild from scratch) our closets one crisp snowy afternoon, and, despite great initial progress, left the house essentially in shambles with lots of heavy power tools strewn about. Since that initial achievement, it has been really cold. So cold that I think the radial arm saw that hasn’t moved from the center of our kitchen floor in a week is actually frozen there. So cold that we haven’t been able to put all our clothes back in our new expanded closet because we prefer to sleep under the giant pile of sweaters on our bed.
One consequence of a week of sloth, however, is that you stop noticing what a wreck everything is. This time last week, I couldn’t imagine having people over for poker, making them step over extension cords and such. Now I’ve become accustomed to the extension cords being there, and I am more concerned with the prospect of heat generated by all the extra bodies that poker would bring in. I am cognizant, however, of the possibility that other people are experiencing the same hibernation instinct that I am, and may not want to venture outside at all.
So RSVP becomes all the more important. Who is brave and ambitious enough to venture out to [——–] at 8pm tonight?