When I was 11 years old, my parents moved to Utah for 3 years, which really did a number on my friend quotient.
This is one example of what happens when a tween has too much time on his hands. For more stories, go here or here.
It was my first winter in Utah. My first winter with the chance of snow. My first winter dealing with temperatures below 50 degrees.
Watching snow fall for the first time outside made me feel like I'd accidentally chugged a bottle of cooking alcohol. I couldn't stop running around the house, looking out through all the windows. Finally, I yanked on my black sweatpants, which I stylishly paired with my black sweatshirt and accessorized with the trendy moon boots my mom bought for me at K-Mart.
Let's just say that there are pictures of this fashion crime against humanity, and they will never see the light of day. EVER.
Then, I bounded outside into the snow, armed with a shiny new snow shovel. After my mom burned through a couple rolls of film, documenting my embarrassing wardrobe choices for posterity, I got to work.
... And the fun lasted for about 5 minutes.
Once the snow started to melt on me and soak into my remarkably absorbing ensemble, I got pretty miserable and had to head back inside ... with the walkway only half finished.
This was the beginning and the end of my love affair with snow. However, it was not the end of my poor cold weather fashion choices ... (Was that foreshadowing? Maybe I should write a book or something.)