I love snow, though, as long as I don't have to go anywhere in it, and no one about whom I care does, either. It's beautiful, magical in its own way.
There was a moment, a few years ago, that proved a sad little deal breaker in a relationship for which I had high hopes...one for which my parents had some vague hope, too. I was dating an attorney from Tennessee whose family owns the controlling interest in a small banking corporation in the area where I live. I could tell that he was fond enough of me, but it never, well, you know, went anywhere.
As usual, the easy default is to blame my weight, which I think is part of it, anyway. I tried not to let it prey on me until one night, while I was in the city where he lived for a jazz concert, an acquaintance with whom a friend had once tried to fix him up blurted incredulously, upon being introduced to me, "Oh, you're here together." It hit me hard. She was shocked to think that I could possibly be the competition.
But I intuited this before...
A couple of weeks earlier, I'd met him for dinner at a little place in the small town, not unlike the one I'm from, where his mother was born. As we were walking out to our cars (the bank board had convened in town for an all-day meeting) in the late autumn darkness, it started to flurry.
Being a dork, and ever so slightly romantic (yet loath to show it, lest I look like a fool), I let myself get a bit giddy, spinning a small circle and looking up into the sparkling snowflakes. My reverie didn't last long. It was dragged back to reality with the leaden demand, "What are you doing?"
I managed to rein it in, glad that the darkness hid the dull flush of embarrassment creeping up past the collar of my coat.
And I knew...it was the beginning of the end.
One of the ridiculous romantic notions I'd always entertained, from childhood, was that falling snow had the ability to make anybody look pretty- that it had this magical quality that might transfigure even those of us who feel homely and awkward most of the time into nearly attractive beings. That feeling died that night.
Girls like me don't get to keep the lawyer anyway, you know. Not that it matters, really.
Sometimes I still watch the snow swirling in the street lights and wish I still believed. Maybe it works for other people, just not for me.