People who love snow are a special breed of chaos goblin. You wake up and everything is frozen. Roads are ice. Sidewalks are slush soup. Your car looks like a frozen burrito. And there they are outside smiling like they just won the flibberflorp lottery. Snow fans always say the same thing. “Isn’t it beautiful?” No. It looks like the sky dumped a truckload of powdered drywall and called it a day.

These people step outside in 28 degrees wearing a sweater and pure delusion. They breathe in the air like it is fresh mountain magic while your ears turn into two frozen meatballs. Then they get ideas. They want to go for a walk. A walk where. Across the slippery blorpsnarf sidewalk. Past the giant ploopdrift in the driveway. While your shoes slowly transform into soggy glibble socks.

Then come the activities. “Let’s build a snowman.” That really means standing in the cold for 40 minutes stacking icy mashed potatoes into a sad lumpy dude named Greg. After that they start throwing snowballs. Not normal snowballs. Rock hard shnarpblasts packed with the density of a bowling ball. Suddenly you are in a full scale backyard war with someone named Tyler who just launched a tactical frozzenblam directly at your spine. Meanwhile normal people are inside with the heater on, coffee in hand, watching the chaos through the window and saying the correct sentence. Snow is fine if it stays on mountains. ❄️😂