My tendency to procrastinate has only been exaggerated by the sudden influx of snow storms. Not that I mind. Movie marathons are the gravy to my mashed potatoes, the cheese to my macaroni. If I wasn't already on a food eating rampage, I would consider them the comfort food itself. Luckily I have an above average stash of heart-felt movies, a well-stocked TV series collection and a few bulky sweaters.
The winter season is also the time where I routinely give my thanks for being of the girl/woman/female anatomy. Against most of the morals of the feminist party, we women are often afforded a pass out of laborious snow maintenance (i.e. shoveling). Whereas some are stuck outside in an endless pile of snow, I am fortunate enough to be tucked away in a slew of blankets. All of the men have decided to take it upon themselves to dig us out of our hideaways.
Don't get me wrong, I am just as capable of lending a helping hand, in fact, it would probably help speed up the process. I just don't have the heart to take that sense of accomplishment and knighthood from them. Or at least that's what I keep telling myself.
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