It’s a Blizzard, Baby!

View from our yard

The spirit of Christmas in my hometown has been blown away by blizzard-force winds. My son and I made the obligatory trip to the grocery store in anticipation of record snowfall today (20 inches, anyone?), and were greeted by absolute pandemonium.

If you were raised like I was it is in your DNA that you must go to the grocery store at the threat of any significant snow. It doesn’t matter if you just went a couple of days ago, and your pantry, refrigerator, and freezer are fully stocked. You must join the other genetically programmed Mommybots in their quest for basic supplies just in case.

It was insane today (our last blizzard was in 2006, so we’re a little out of practice in Boston). People grasped their carts with white knuckled fear, and weaved in and out of aisle traffic like they were in bumper cars at an amusement park. They strong-armed their way to the hot ticket items–bread, water, and eggs–relying on their pent-up post-holiday aggression as stamina to get supplies before they vanished before their eyes. I thought people would be a little kinder to me with my seven-month-old son in the cart, but I still got knocked around a few times–even as a defensive driver.

The check-out lines were 20 people deep, and every incompetent employee seemed to be working and screaming out for price checks. Customers were rolling their eyes, sighing loudly, and grunting in disgust at the slow pace while trying to maneuver their over-filled carts towards the front of the now-curvy check-out line.

It truly was every man, woman, and child for themselves. Well, mostly it was every woman and child for themselves. Men definitely don’t have our do-it-all DNA.

My son? He slept right through it. He can’t sleep past 5:30 a.m., but can easily snooze through pre-blizzard mayhem at the grocery store. He’s a little man already!

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