I went to the grocery store today, not realizing that “The Brutal Blizzard” was on its wicked way. Everyone else, however, knew it. People, it was insane. It was like the day before Thanksgiving, the night before Christmas, and the panicky moment that Twinkies were gonna become extinct. You catch my (snow) drift? According to the national news, we could be buried in sheets of sleet by Saturday.

Geez. I just wanted sweet apples, a chubby chicken, and a big bag of clumping cat litter. In the grand scheme of things, that should be fifteen minutes – tops. A little longer, if I want to stand in line for a lottery ticket. Nuh-uh. My mega-millions will have to wait. Those motley Mainers crowding around the cashiers, made me very nervous. Finally, I caught the contagious food fever! Did we have enough Charmin? Weren’t we almost out of hot chocolate? And what about that moldy loaf of rye bread? Perhaps, it wouldn’t last the wintry weekend.

The extreme anxiety that permeated the air was infectious. Before you could say: “Salami Sale at the Deli!” – I was running down the diaper aisle, senselessly searching for wet wipes. Fortunately, I found them – then grabbed my goodies, paid for the provisions, and narrowly escaped with my Lifesavers. Now, all we gotta do is dig out a few fave flicks, put a pot of potato soup on, and give each other pampering pedicures. “Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow!”