(Based on a walk in the snow five days ago, which is the snowstorm before the one happening right now, and with apologies to Ezra Jack Keats--and blame assigned to "Go the F**k to Sleep.")
It was the Umpteenth Snowstorm, and Mommy and I went to the Dylan Stewart Playground in Prospect Park.
Mommy, can we go to the playground, I asked?
No, not yet, Mommy said. It's covered with snow.
You could sit on the benches, Mommy, while I run and play!
No, said Mommy, my bottom would get wet and frozen. Look, they're covered with snow.
I could swing on the swings, I said!
No, said Mommy, then your bottom would get wet and frozen. Now come on, let's get home, your nose is running onto your snowsuit.
I could slide on the slides, I said!
No, said Mommy, they're covered with snow, too. Let's go, I'm freezing.
We could run on the soccer fields, I said!
NO, said Mommy, they look like the freakin' North Pole!
Daddy says you only use that word when you want to say another word that's a bad word, I said.
Put down that damn snow, said Mommy, or you'll hear some more bad words.
Look, Mommy, I said, somebody left a bottle in the middle of the street! They're not supposed to litter, they should have recycled it!
And then Mommy grabbed the bottle and opened it and tried to get out the very last drop. "That's a good goddam brand of tequila," she said.
Ew, Mommy, I said, that's gross! You said we should never share sippy cups!
And that was our adventure in the Umpteenth Snowstorm.