Snowshoes

Mornings suck. That's a given. If you are a morning person then, like the morning itself, you suck too! If you own your own vehicle - well, you don't suck. You rule. Way to be a grown-up and have a car! Good for you! I hate you.

I don't have a vehicle. I ride the train from the 'burbs to Chicago. As a recent Oklahoma transplant, this is my first taste of an Illinois Winter. Snow crunches underneath my feet on the way to meet the Metra. The wind balls up it's fist and punches any part of my face that my scarf fails to cover. This particular morning was extra-cold. Yay. On the way to the train, the snow greeted me affectionately by sneaking it's way into my boots, rubbing it's sub-zero temperature against my foot like a cat in heat. It was nice enough to wait until I boarded the train to melt, making my feet not only cold, but wet as well.

The snow doesn't usually get into my boots. On this particular morning I was running late and had to jog through a softball field-turned winter wonderland in order to make it to my destination by the train's 9:03 departure time. I was about a half-block away from the train station when I heard a familiar dinging and noticed the railroad crossing sign lighting up. The barrier arm began it's descent. I wasn't about to miss this train. It would be two hours before another one came my way. I clenched my jaw, cursed my existence, leaned my head forward, and sprinted illegally across the tracks. Onlookers shook their heads in disapproval. What can I say ladies? The rules don't apply to me. If I was a cannon, I'd be loose.

Once safely across, I bent over and attempted to catch the breath that beat me across the tracks. I felt like Pavarotti after doing his Carl Lewis impression. When I was a child, I thought I might have asthma. I wen t to see a doctor. He ran some tests and there was no asthma. Instead I was diagnosed with a condition called being fat. As I sat, post-sprint, catching my breath, I noticed that the train I had nearly killed my fat ass to catch was actually a freight train and not the passenger train I was running for. I looked at my cell phone to check the time. I was five minutes early. I could have waddled comfortably across the tracks with time to spare.

About that time, sweat began to pour forth from my body. On the outside it was cold enough to freeze water, but below my many layers of heat-trapping winter apparel was a fountain of sweat that began to soak my undershirt and sweater.

Eventually, my breathing returned to normal and I saw a sight that brightened my spirits - a snowball fight! I watched as children packed the snow into their gloves and threw spheres of compacted, powdered ice towards each other. I remembered the snowball fights of my youth and felt nostalgic - until one of these snowballs accidentally hit me in the face! Suddenly the faces of these innocent twelve-year olds transformed into the live-action mugshots of a band of hardened criminals - criminals with the braces! The worst kind!

In that moment, I became my own parents as I shouted at the female of the group. She seemed the least threatening but, in reality, was probably the most ruthless of all. She was probably their leader. The other two were mere puppets, succumbing to her evil snowball-induced whims. My face stung from the cold, hard ball of ice. I scolded them with phrases such as,

"Not cool!,"

"DO NOT do that again!"

And the obvious:

"You just hit me in the face - WITH SNOW!!!"

The color drained from her face. The gang leader apologized. I refused to reply. I gazed at her sternly. That's right. I'm a grown-up. And I'm in charge. She fearfully moved about ten feet away from me. I had made my point. Who's the boss? I am.

Then she resumed the snowball battle with the same haphazard abandon as before. It was as though our encounter never occured. As the train pulled up, I saw that another girl had joined their bunch. She presented the leader with a fresh ball of snow. The little demon spawn didn't throw it though. She held onto it and boarded the train in posession of the frozen weapon. The war was now mobile.

I moved a couple cars down to avoid killing a small child. Prison is not in my immediate plans. If I'm going to sleep with a man, it's going to be in a warm bed, not a cold cell or a damp shower. And he's going to have kind eyes, not the steely gaze of a hardened criminal - the same steely gaze that I saw in the eyes of The Snowball Queen.

I hate mornings. The only good thing they're good for is waffles, and on that morning there were no waffles in sight.