Snow Up to My Tan Lines

I love New England. I was born and raised here. The concierge at the fabulous Caribe Royale in Florida said he could tell I was from New England. Something comes out of our pores that notifies the residents of the more temperate climes of this country that we are tough and hardy people, not to be messed with.
This does not mean that I didn't stomp my feet like a frustrated three year old when it came time for me to hop into the rented car and be taken to the airport. I'd been sitting by the pool all day on Friday when my mother called.
"Did you hear?"
"Hear what?" I asked, wriggling my toes in the Reef flip-flops I'd been wearing all week, my head hazy with sunshine and cold medicine.
"It's going to snow. Like, a lot. A blizzard. On Saturday night."
I did some quick calculations in my mind. It wouldn't be snowing soon enough to strand me in Florida, but it would be snowing when the Whatever's flight was supposed to take off. I started to resent him for being on the good side of this act of God. So when he said that we should leave for the airport, I started to stomp my feet.
"I don't WANNA go back!" I whined, stomping into the bedroom to change into my jeans, and put the three layers of sweaters, my hat and the two pairs of gloves I'd brought with me into my carry-on.
"You can always reschedule your flight for Saturday or Sunday and get stuck here too."
He mentioned this idea about ten minutes before we had to leave, so it was too late. I also had spent far more than I'd wanted to (damn you Disney!) so I knew it was time for me to head back to Boston, where I could eat breakfast for less than $7. (To be fair, I could have had an all-you-can-eat breakfast at the Ponderosa for $3.99 if I'd walked my lazy ass across the street.)
I don't have a love for Florida, mind you. As we drove to the airport, we were stuck behind a guy with a mullet, driving a truck on huge tires that rendered it unable to travel at more than seventy miles per hour with the engine groaning loudly. The houses are all made of concrete painted different shades of pastel colors, screened-in tents surrounding the small backyards to keep the bugs at bay. Everything was homogenous and bland and inoffensive. It's remarkable that Florida has such a tourism-based economy since there's not much to look at, and it's not that pleasant there during the spring and summer months. But I left with a weight on me knowing that I was leaving the prefab environment that was in the seventies for the interesting and diverse Boston that was in the teens with an imminent blizzard.
Now I'm back here, my body ravaged by two infections (pink eye and a UTI that had me weeping) and possibly a third, judging by my cough and endless sinus drainage. I had to traipse through 2 feet of snow to get to work, even though the governor said we should all stay home (but, hey, there's free pizza!). I am also hating the Whatever since he is snowed in in Florida, riding rollercoasters and putting zinc on his nose. But at least I got a little time in the sun to hold me over until the thaw. In June.