French Toast Holiday!

One disadvantage of living in the South is that we rarely get snow. See, I like snow. I daresay I love it. Which is why it's sometimes with a bitter, envious eye that I watch the weather channel and see that Indiana and the Great Lakes States are getting dumped on again and again. I know, I'm kind of freaky, but I love snow, I like the cold, and I love winter.

One advantage of living in the South is that we get snow so rarely that, when we do, everything shuts down. Schools. Churches. Research labs. That's right. I rolled out of bed this morning at 7:45, saw we had a two hour delay, and then watched more weather. At 8:45, I found out that the roads were too hazardous for people to be on and that we should all stay home, thus securing a French Toast Holiday.
The other phenomenon that happens when you hear that a major snow storm is a-brewin' is that people rush to the store to stock up on staple supplies, which usually turn out to be bread, milk and eggs. The only thing I can think of that these mix to is French Toast, which is why free days off from work are French Toast Holidays.

Perhaps my favorite thing about winter weather down here is the number of snow plows littering the sides of the road. Apparently, we in North Carolina, despite having an ocean to our right (left, if you're looking at the Moon), have yet to master the modern technology of evaporating dishes and thus don't have enough salt to go around. You'd think that if the Venetians could do it in the Dark Ages, that technology would have made it here by now. I guess not; I'm not complaining, because I like the free day off. I just marvel at how ill-prepared North Carolina always seems for winter.
Unfortunately, I didn't make French Toast. Instead, I made Pancakes (American Pancakes at that...suck it, Pierre) with some bacon on the side. The Buxom and Comely and Easily Terrified Boudicca whipped up some cheesy grits to go along with the breakfast, and we feasted and watched as snow filtered down through the trees of our woodsy backyard. It was perfect.

After breakfast, we all went outside to play until we got cold (so about 30 minutes...we are Southerners, after all) and then retreated into the warm, bacony-smelling interior of the house. Now lunch has passed and, frankly, I'm feeling a bit like a nap. Awesome.

Also...someone should tell Aretha Franklin not to hesitate and pause after saying the first syllable of "country". Especially when the word preceding it is "my".