Today was the straw that broke the camel’s back. All fall I watched as the leaves turned brown and fell to the ground, praying that somehow winter would skip over us and that we’d pass straight into spring where the grass is green and the sun is warm.
But did this happen? No.
Every year the Earth keeps rotating, and the winters keep piling up the snow and depriving us of Frisbees, sunbathing and the ultimate excuse for skipping class – the nice weather.
Luckily, here in Ohio we have the privilege of experiencing a typical Midwestern winter – meaning the temperature drops 4,000 degrees overnight, and snow magically appears like an unwanted house guest. But does this stop school from being conducted?
No. We go to Ohio State. It could rain fire and brimstone, but come hell or high water, we’d be walking to class in asbestos suits.
I have finally accepted the fact that we will never have a snow day, and I bought a small-but-loyal pack of huskies which were in training for the Iditarod. Getting to class during the next blizzard will be as simple as yelling “mush” and cracking a whip.
For those of you, however, who are less fortunate and are walking through the blistering tundra that is campus and would rather be curled up in some blankets hibernating, believe me when I say you’re not the only one waiting for spring.
To say that I hate winter would be a drastic understatement. More so, this winter in particular has seemed to sap the joy of being a reckless college student out of me.
There was no massive snowball fight like last year, and I haven’t seen one cunningly sculpted snow phallus or tribute to Janet Jackson’s peep show. So imagine my surprise when I realized that it wasn’t cold enough to cryogenically freeze my grandmother Wednesday.
Feeling relieved that the weather peaked into the near-tropical 40s, I left my sled at home and decided to brave the walk to class. Miraculously, I was fortunate enough to overcome an experience that I’d like to call a “seasonal set back.”
While walking to class, I managed to do an ice-skating maneuver that would’ve at least won me the bronze medal at the Winter Olympics. But with a vicious twirl of death, I slid across a patch of ice and collided solidly onto the pavement in what I hope is my first and last rendition of a hockey puck.
Falling flat on my face and embarrassing myself in front of a half-dozen strangers isn’t what made me finally give into my hatred of the season. In fact I’m positive that somewhere there’s a law that states every person has to slip on an ice patch at least once every winter.
It was the fact that I fell because I was distracted by the woman of my dreams. The I’ll-never-date-her-because-she-has-a-boyfriend-permanently type of woman idly strolling down High Street in whatever fantasy world of hers that doesn’t have snow or bad karma.
Cupid must have missed his target or have been throwing darts at the local pub because when I was finished nursing my bruised shoulder and tarnished ego, she was gone. So now I can thank this winter for not only freezing rain, unbearable cold and what should have been a snow day, but also the loss of my dream woman.
So what can I say to everyone who hates the winter or suffers from occasional seasonal depression other than, spring is right around the corner, or get outside and make a snow angel?
How about I kidnap the groundhog and make sure he never sees his shadow or the light of day again?
David Cross is a junior in journalism. He can be reached for comment at [email protected].
