White stuff, white stuff go away

I am working on my 9^th Michigan winter, not counting the four I spent here while in college.* So when November rolls around, I should not be surprised that white stuff starts falling from the sky. And yet, I am always surprised. Always. Because I always think, “Maybe this will be the year it won't snow!” Which is akin to thinking, “Maybe this will be the summer we won't nearly die of heatstroke,” in Atlanta. So I should really, really, really be over this.

Snow. A four-letter word. Coincidence? I think not.

But this morning, when we were scraping Amy’s windshield and one of us slipped and fell on the icy driveway, I looked around and sighed, “I really need to stop living in denial.” The white stuff's coming, and it's not a question of when but of how much. And I need to just. get. over. it. 

And I need to remember to wear a coat and better shoes when it’s icy/snowy/white stuff-y outside. 

*Yes, I came to Michigan for my higher education, as did Sean. Never in one million-billion-squillion years did I think we’d ever reside here full-time. We plan, God laughs.