In which we survive the Snowpocalypse. Sort of.

I've often said that my hometown of Wallingford exists in its own little bubble. The laws of physics, weather, and common sense are either altered or missing completely.

Murphy's Law, on the other hand? Completely intact.

High school roof gets blown off in a freak gust of wind?
Wallingford.

KKK gives a speech at the local library?
Wallingford.

Traffic gets held up on CT-68 because someone's truck lost a load of hay?
Wallingford.

35" of snow in one storm, ranking 5th in New England for most snowfall?
FREAKING. WALLINGFORD.

For reference, my mother is 5' tall. Okay, okay. 4'11". 

And 3/4".

 This was a four-way intersection. Except the only person getting through was a random dude on snowshoes. I've never seen him before. Not even sure if he actually lives here.

 

 I tried getting through this. I sank up to my armpits in the snow. So then I tried waddling after the dude on the snowshoes, but he kept giving me worried looks and snowshoeing away faster.

 "HI I TRIED TO FOLLOW YOU BUT THERE WAS A SHOVEL IN MY WAY AND I GOT SCARED, SO I JUST STOOD IN THE SNOW AND CRIED INSTEAD."

I thought about being creative and making some New England style clam chowder for dinner tonight, but upon closer inspection found that the cans of clams in the cupboard had expired. In May, 2010 (I'm serious, we're never going to survive the zombie apocalypse if these people don't get their shit together).

So it was chili instead. Delicious, and with a much lower chance of everyone developing botulism.