Southern Humorists - Humor Columnist Susan Reinhardt

I’m a snow freak. When the forecast shows those flakes on the radar or warnings uttered from some meteorologist’s mouth, I get as excited as a child on Christmas Eve.

Snow is my Santa, the white world that falls and makes winter gorgeous, like a gift in the jolly man’s bag.

But here’s the deal, snow forecasts for those who adore white worlds, are often like blind dates. First, there’s the huge build-up.

“You’re going to love this guy. He’s amazing. He’s a world-famous neurosurgeon who donates most of his time to helping the poor in Honduras. He’s taking you to the fanciest, 5-star seafood restaurant in town.”

Then you go on the date and he’s driving an El Camino and smoking Camels and asks if you’ve heard the Lobster bites had returned to the Long John Silver’s menu.

That’s how it is with these snow predictions that promise six inches and deliver one or two. If bad weather is coming – and at least snow is beautiful to us southerners who never got any growing up – then why not get a boatload. Six to seven inches is perfect.

The one inch we usually receive is a bummer. It snarls traffic, causes wrecks, cancels schools for two days so that as mothers we go crazy and wonder if 10 a.m. is too early for margaritas – kidding, on that one. Maybe margarita pancakes.

I’m writing this on Wednesday morning, as the winter warnings and banners continue flashing across my TV and computer screens, along with that annoying dancing lady they keep putting on weather.com for some odd reason.

Oh, the storms they are promising.

Heavy snow. The works. Get thee to the grocery store because you know good and well there’s nothing in the pantry but two cans of stale kale and a half a box of Wheat Thins from 2002.

These wintry predictions bring on visions of sledding down hills with the kids, drinking hot chocolate, and a day to just relax and enjoy the beauty of a fairytale world.

I search the skies the way bird watchers haunt the air for rare beaks and feathers. When the little white diamonds began falling, I stay up for hours, mesmerized by nature, gazing as if it’s some sort of alluring show.

I go to bed hoping for that promised six inches. And wake up with one or two.

It’s enough to cancel school and sled and then listen to children the remainder of the day who are bored to death with nothing to do. That’s when I began to rethink this whole “I love snow” thing.

The worst part is when the next day, the schools call for a two-hour delay. This makes no sense. Here’s why.

School starts around 8 a.m. The temperature rarely goes up but a degree or two between 8 and 10 a.m. Now, how much melting can go on during that time?

What this means is another day of figuring out how to entertain stir-crazy children who by now are fighting with siblings, have eaten all the good provisions, and look at you as if you’re crazy when you say, “Let’s play that cool game ‘Apples to Apples.’”

Susan Reinhardt is a columnist based in Asheville, N.C. You can reach her at sreinhardt@citizen-times.com