Winter 2013: A fairy tale

 

Once upon a time, when the Winter of 2013 was just a little tiny Winter, her mother sat her down and had a talk with her.

 

"Honey," said Winter of 2013's mom. "You can do anything or be anything you put your mind to. Follow your dreams. You are beautiful and competant and nothing can get in your way." 

 

Little Winter of 2013 came home from school one day crying. 

 

"People are telling me to just leave already, that I don't belong here. Spring said I have overstayed my welcome and Summer pushed me down. They said I'm too nasty and miserable to play with them." 

 

"There there, honey," said Little Winter of 2013's mother. "Don't let anyone tell you what to do. Stick to your guns. If you want to stay, stay. You will leave when you feel like it. Do not let anyone discourage you from your goals."

 

Little Winter of 2013 never forgot that moment, and although her mother, Winter of 2005 was gone, her words stayed with her the rest of her life. Winter of 2013 vowed when it was her turn, she would stay as long as she could, and not let anyone discourage her from her dreams of being the longest-running Winter in history. 

 

In fact, Winter of 2013 has such a strong hatred for Spring and Summer, she has vowed to hold them off until June, no matter how much people complain about the cold, the snow, their vehicles getting stuck or not starting. Oh, and saying you're SO READY for Spring won't help either.  

 

THE END. 

Punked

One day last week, I came home for lunch. While I'm walking up the stairs to the door, I drop my keys. They slide around a little and land somewhere in the mound of snow underneath the stairs. I groan, and trudge to the area beneath the stairs where no one has ventured since the snow came. 

In knee deep snow, I dig around for my keys. After five, ten, fifteen minutes passes, I start to get a little frantic. The keys are nowhere to be found, and I'm locked out of the house. I call Dame. 

"It's like they just disappeared!" I say. "It felt like someone knocked them right out of my hands and then they disappeared! THEY'RE NOT HERE!" At this point, I'm obviously the picture of calm, cool, collected.

"Ok, relax. They're there. Do you have spare car keys?" asks Dame. At this moment I wish he would just be dramatic for one second with me. Indulge me. A better response might have been: "O.M.G. Seriously? GONE? I've heard of this happening! It most definitely means some other-worldly being is at work here. Take the rest of the day off and CALL IN THE GHOST HUNTERS!"

But no. He's all like "take your spare keys, drive to my work, I'll give you my house key, and I'll find your keys when I get home from work." When I get to his work to collect the house key, I say "You're not going to find them. Because THEY'RE NOT THERE. They LITERALLY DISAPPEARED." I don't even care that I'm not using the work literally correctly in a sentence. That's how worked up I am.

"I'll find them when I get home. In the dark," he adds with just the slightest of grins. 

"I'll bet you $20 you don't find them!" I chirp. I really want my keys back. 

"What good is that?" he adds, reminding me we now share everything. 

After a couple of seconds I say "ok, if you find them, WHICH YOU WON'T, I'll do the dishes for a whole month." This gets his attention.

When he gets home later that night, it is dark, and it has snowed slightly. Although I'm a little sad about losing my keys, I'm happier about winning a bet against my fiance. Don't tell me that's twisted. I already know.

He puts on his big boots, and marches outside. Thirty seconds later he is back. Keys dangling from his fingers. Mile-wide smile on his smug little face. 

"They were right at the bottom of the stairs, just sitting there," he explains, laughing.

"NO WAY. THERE'S NO WAY! Someone is messing with me! Seriously. Someone is DEFINITELY setting me up! I LOOKED THERE! Multiple times!"

I lost. I have to do dishes for a month. I did get my keys back, but that's a small victory, overshadowed by the fact that I LOST.

I'm still convinced there's something else at play here. Someone hid my keys on me, and then stealthily placed them at the bottom of the stairs when Damien pulled into the driveway. And when I find that person, justice will be served. I'm going to bring them down with my shriveled, dishpan hands.