Friday, February 01, 2008
Dear (insert deity of choice):
I know we’ve had this discussion before – to no avail, I might add – but are you kidding me? 30 to 40 centimetres of snow by tomorrow morning? If you make it stop, I promise not to call Patrick a corpulent, mullet-sporting fuckwit for at least a week. Hmmmm. How about 5 days? Okay ... 2 days and that’s my final offer. We’re sooooooo screwed.
P.S. I realize that I will always be my mother’s child but I’ve managed to live on my own for years with no major disasters. Can you please ask her to stop calling me prior to every snowfall to make sure that I have enough food, water, toilet paper, batteries, bandages, life rafts, emergency flares, etc? Thanks – you’re a peach.