My wife has a decidedly Norman Rockwellian outlook on life. I mean, all things being equal, that's not the worst outlook to have on life. It allows one to enjoy musicals, www.cuteoverload.com, and Santa Parades. Not that I, cynical and sarcastic wannabe hipster elite that I am, would EVER enjoy those things. Why, I've never even heard of cuteoverload. How dare you accuse me of such things. Ok, maybe a little bit.
But invariably, I have the more gritty and sarcastic outlook on life. Where she sees the glass half full, I see it as a breeding ground for some mouth-borne illness seeing as it has clearly been drunk from. Where she sees the magic of street chistmas lights, I see hundreds of lights being powered to illuminate trees that we blissfully ignore 11 months of the year. Where she sees puppies, I see witty itty bitty cutey puppies! Er, maybe not that example. But you get the idea. Maybe this is a male-female dynamic. Maybe I'm just naturally cyncial about anything that doesn't come in a box, has screenshots on the back, and has clear indications on what the minimum PC requirements are.
So this morning went something like this. My wife, no doubt with a nice Bing Crosby song playing in her head, and the misty eyed nostalgia of New Hampshire-esque christmases we've never had, announced in a heady whisper. "It's snowing."
I replied, groggy, in the same misty-eyed tone "Snowing?". Then the part of my brain that processes sarcasm, anger, and general malice towards the world woke up. Visions of a ball-freezing ass-chapping slush-infested commute filled my mind. Without even opening my eyes I added, "Fuck."