The ice never bothered me anyway

I don't actually mind winter. I enjoy snow. I like skiing. I'm terrible at skiing. I like to cook warm stews and cozy up in a ski chalet. But the first moment I slip on a patch of ice I think about moving down to Florida and becoming a snow bird (birds are a lot smarter than us).

The snow can pile to my waist if it likes, as long as it stays wonderfully fluffy and white. When it gets compressed or icy rain comes and the roads turn slick, I HATE it. My new boots have literal spikes on the bottom to keep me from slipping in every direction and I still can't get to the trunk of my car from my driveway. There's a giant, thick layer of ice right behind where I park.

Upon returning from two weeks away at the FMF conference and teaching week, I found my stairs buried in about 2 feet of snow. I was wearing flats and stockings with cats on them. Good thing I had a pair of boots (city boots, for show more than snow) and some gloves (again, impractical but pretty leather gloves) in my car. I had to steal my neighbour's shovel to dig out my shovel. There's still enough snow on the deck I'm worried it's going to collapse. My solution was to run away since I'm now back in GFW for pediatrics. I dread what awaits me upon return.

On an unrelated note, while in Toronto for the conference, I went out to JBBQ with friends. We built a meat wall. My (very thin) friend managed to eat pretty much a full cow equivalent on her own.