Coffee in hand, I shuffled in my slippers to the front door, and stepped out into that rarest of Northwest meteorological phenomena--snow. A deep, crunching inch of it.
Mummy's unregenerate curs boiled out behind me onto the front deck and proceeded to demonstrate the procedure for making yellow snow. Delighted with their accomplishment, they waited for Mummy to exhibit her own prowess.
Mummy explained that mummies are not equipped to make yellow snow, but their daddy is telecommuting today and might be willing to oblige. Accordingly, the slavering pack descended on Daddy's office demanding to be satisfied by a display of proficiency in their seasonal sport.
Daddy declined on the grounds that his own Hawaiian Peaberry had not yet taken effect. Also that it was gross.
Disappointed, the rabid reprobates plunged back indoors to dry their snowy, filthy feet on Mummy's clean sheets before she had time to make the bed. That accomplished, they have resumed their regularly-scheduled program of climbing en masse into Mummy's lap to help her write a blog post, and the rest of the snowy world will just have to remain white.