As someone who was born and raised below the Mason-Dixon line, I get pretty excited about snow. I think it's glorious. I think it's beautiful. I think it's peaceful. I think it is everything northerners think it is not.
Well, when I heard we were expecting snow here in Brussels, I was ready. I had my hot chocolate. I had my loungewear. I had my books. "Buh-ring it", I said.
And Brussels said, "Okay. Here it is."
I was pleased.
And for the first time in my life, I experienced "snowflakes that stay on my nose and eyelashes". I had to go get Jason's drycleaning and the snow stuck to everything on my person. My coat, my jeans, my purse, my hair, my face and yes, my eyelashes. I kept having to wipe the flakes away so I could see.
Funny enough, I had just complained to Beth and Larry that one of my pet peeves was fake movie snow and how it doesn't melt when it lands in the actors' hair or on their clothes. And there I was, covered hat to boot and everything in between, looking for all intents and purposes like a damn snowman.
As I said to Beth in an email later that day, "I stand corrected. Sometimes, snow doesn't melt when it hits your hair and coat and stuff. Sometimes, it just goes right on being snow."
EDITED TO ADD: So, the thing is this... I wrote this post a few days ago, the evening before we were to fly out of Brussels and into Raleigh and scheduled it to go live today. Since I wrote this post, I have had a snow experience that has somewhat changed my once-friendly relationship with the wet white stuff. I'll recount this adventurous tale soon but for now, suffice it to say that I now kind of understand why northerners aren't so enchanted with snow.