The first time I saw real snow — not the occasional wet stuff we get in Texas, but real snow — was in Chicago. It was my 21st birthday, and I had a light schedule of meetings and workshops that day. I decided to walk around in downtown Chicago until I found a place that served drinks, and I would order my very first legal alcoholic beverage. I pushed my way through the brass and glass revolving doors in the hotel lobby, stepped out onto the sidewalk, and was instantly snow-blind.

When my eyes adjusted, I stepped into a shadow and looked around at all the large piles of fluffy, clean snow everywhere. I wanted to go play in it, but I was trying to appear adult and cosmopolitan, and running over to the first pile of snow to build a snowman while giggling wildly seemed a little Backwoods Texas comes to the Big City, so I resisted the urge, bundled my coat tighter, and went off to find that purveyor of alcoholic beverages I had set out to find.

Two days later I spent 48 hours stuck in O’Hare, thanks to snow. Let’s just say my glee about seeing “real” snow was dampened somewhat.

The second time I saw real snow was in Lake Tahoe on a skiing trip. Hey, skiing was not my idea, but I was excited about seeing snow –and gambling. We arrived at night, and it was snowing hard. The trip from airport to resort was even somewhat horrifying at some points. The only snow I could see was what was hitting the windows. The next morning, I put on my sunglasses, pushed open the front doors of the resort, stepped out on the sidewalk and took in the view. Stunning to see snow-covered mountains first thing in the morning.

I allowed myself to run out and play in the snow for a while. Then I ran up to our room, put on my cute white ski-suit went to take the beginner’s skiing class. They passed me, which to this day seems like a criminally insane thing for them to do. One of my friends, who had also just been told she could ski, headed to the lift to go down her first real slope. I headed to the outdoor patio on the lodge and ordered a hot toddy. Settling into a comfy chair, I watched the slope for signs of my friends coming down, so I could try to convince someone they wanted to have a hot toddy and play in the snow with me rather than doing that skiing thing.

I sat and watched for about 30 minutes, and I began to think it odd that my friend and fellow classmate hadn’t come down a very simple and extremely short little slope yet. I’d seen some people pass by a few times already. The thought had no more crossed my mind when I saw several rescue snowmobiles take off up the slope. They returned shortly, my friend in tow. She hadn’t injured herself, but she had taken a tumble and then refused to put her skis on ever again. She’d been walking down the slope crying her eyes out. I ordered two hot toddies. Finally, a drinking and snow-playing buddy.

Though after a while of goofing around in the snow, we both realized that even nice snow is wet and cold and in the end isn’t really all that much fun. So we changed into comfortable clothes and hit the casino. Snow can’t top central heat, free watered-down cocktails, and nickel slots.

I’ve learned to love Texas snow. It’s pretty when it’s falling from the sky, it dusts the world with glittering white, and then … it goes away. I think if I had to live with real snow on a regular basis, I would go stark raving mad. Yes, I will admit right here and right now for the first time in my life: I hate snow.

This post inspired by Jen.