So this weekend, we got some snow. Finally. Everyone was waiting for it, though I was still not quite certain it was even cold enough to snow. But snow and behold, there it was, covering my apartment complex on Saturday morning.
I remember talking to my mom, either the day of or the night before, and she said, “I saw on the news that ya’ll are supposed to get some snow this weekend. Have you been to the store? Do you have enough supplies?”
The first words out of my mouth were, “Yes, mother. I have milk and bread, and a jug of water in the fridge.”
Then I stopped myself. I don’t even know why I said that. I’m not particularly fond of milk, and I don’t have anything to put in between the bread in the first place. Why does every feel the need to run out and get bread and milk as soon as the weather gets bad? We’ve been doing that since before I could remember.