You deserve a real post—two real posts—this week.
But Offspring is home, and I’ve got to go wake him up by bouncing on his bed and asking what he wants to do today.
I really want to brag about the things I got Husband for Christmas, but he reads this blog so it’ll have to wait. And I can’t tell you about the adorable thing we got Offspring because—though I’ve warned him off—he insists on reading this blog.
And I live in St Louis, a city that just completely lost its shit over two inches of snow.
So today, rather than showing you the magnificence of my tree or discussing proper bow-making or debating the superior holiday hot beverage, I must personally address a few people who probably won’t read this on their own; I will have to rely on you to spread the message in the hopes it reaches them.
To the parents of the woman who was driving 10mph on I-270 while applying makeup:
You failed, and the garbage human you produced is the evidence of your failure that will be your legacy long after you’re in the ground. Also, tell her to stick to the damned side roads if she’s gonna be that stupid.
To the snow plow drivers who worked ridiculous hours cleaning up our streets:
I don’t want to tell you how to do your job, but I’ve seen snow more than twice in my life so I’m totally qualified to do just that and it seems to me you’d have been done in no time if you hadn’t swooshed around moving snow from the far lanes to the middle lanes and back again. It took you way too damned long to figure out the five-staggered configuration that literally everyone else knows about.
To all the people who spun out or crashed into guard rails driving like damned fools:
I’m sorry we made a game of counting your abandoned cars. That was probably insensitive of us. Feel free to bill the plow drivers for your damage.
To the snow plow driver who somehow managed to wreck up against a guard rail on I-70
YOU HAD ONE JOB.
 ME: You shouldn’t read that trash.
OFFSPRING: You’re funny! I never got to read your stuff when I lived at home… why is that?
ME: Go to your room.
 I am not kidding. Banks were closed. Restaurants closed early. Shops—including grocery stores—failed to open at all or closed early.
 It is and always will be hot chocolate. But if you’re feeling sassy (and when am I not?) splash a li’l Disaronno or RumChata in there. Santa will appreciate your improved mood.
 We were stuck behind her. This was her exact speed for thirty goddamned minutes before I convinced Husband to pass on the right.