Baltimore has been snowed in for three days, and with another big storm on the way tomorrow night, there has been lots of chatter about an inevitable spike in the birth rate nine months from now. That kind of thing sounded a little saucy and romantic to me when I was younger, but as an adult in a long term relationship, I have a much better grasp of what is really going on. Romance? Right. After about forty-eight hours sequestered together, an activity that offers any amount of time during which I stop complaining and Scott stops asking me questions is looked upon favorably in this household. I imagine we are not the only ones.
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I’m more interested in the short-term spike in shoveling induced heart attacks, particularly among all the 50 and 60-year-old men and women in my neighborhood who are out there digging while all those lazy, fat-ass teenagers are nowhere to be seen.
I hear ya. In a neighborhood full of older kids and teenagers, it was almost dark on Sunday before I saw a single person under the age of thirty out shoveling. Over the past two days, the count is at one teenager, and one very small group of older teenagers or youngish men looking to make money shoveling.
I also learned that while a few of my neighbors possess snowblowers, they do not possess entrepreneurial spirit.
I saw two out here, late Saturday (and they were out helping their mom did her car out). If it were the first warm weekend in May, they’d have been out in droves, swinging from the chandeliers. Not today.
Outdoor chandeliers in your neighborhood? This I must see.
Figuratively speaking. You know, like helpful teenagers.