It happened. I officially have the post-holiday, it’s-too-cold-to-get-out-of-bed, wake me when it’s April, doldrums. It started on a Monday this year (naturally). It’s that sad, sad moment when I woke up and realize the holidays are now just a memory. I can no longer eat cookies for breakfast, the only pine smell filling my home will come from my vacuum cleaner, and aside from shimmer of hope offered by Valentine’s Day, I have absolutely nothing to look forward to until the first flowers pop in April.
Wait, it gets worse.
It also flurried.
The first official flurry of the season sets me into a panic stricken, snow-driven shame spiral. Stage one, First Flurry Freakout, lasts approximately 15 seconds, and goes a little something like this:
“Is that snow? It’s snowing. That’s not really snow. It is. No it isn’t. Wait, it is. It definitely is. I can’t leave the house. I despise driving in the snow. Do I have canned goods? Do I have good tires? Do I have bread, milk and eggs? No? But I must. I knew I should have gone to the market. We probably should have bought a snow blower. I refuse to shovel. Maybe this is the only snow we will see this year. Think of those poor folks stuck on Lake Shore Drive last year in the Chicago blizzard. I miss Chicago. I miss the shopping on Michigan Avenue. It could be worse; I could be in Michigan – in February. Why didn’t we just buy that snow blower? Remember when snow was fun? The DMV should warn you that the true cost of possessing a driver’s license is losing that magical snow day feeling. We should have moved to Mexico. Next year, we’re definitely moving to Mexico. Does everyone make French Toast when it snows? That’s it. I can’t leave my house. It’s unsafe. I have to quit my job. Say goodbye to my friends. And crawl back into bed for three months. Black ice will never find me there.“
Don’t worry. The above is completely internal.
Once my initial snowspasm grinds to a blinding halt, I commence stage two, the dreaded, three-month long, First Flurry Funk. And alas fine Juice readers, that’s where I am. I wish I could be beach blanket blogging from a beautiful seaside resort, but my next vacation isn’t scheduled until April 1. A crippling 86 days away. (Side note, we’re going to the Riviera Maya, of course, and taking my parents along for the ride. It’ll be their first time ever in Mexico at an All-Inclusive resort, and my father hates sand. It’ll be interesting.)
So why 86 days away? Why not tomorrow? Why, it’s busy season, folks. This is the time we in Reservations and our travel agent partners dig our heels in and book the bulk of your sunny vacations. See, I’m not the only one who gets the Winter Blues. Apparently, it’s a relatively normal process and sends folks on a mad dash to get to a warm and sunny destination.
As I write this, I just grabbed my smart phone and used our On The Go app to check the weather in Cancun. 82° and sunny. Philly? Feels like 46°. And it’s a “good day” here. Sigh.
So here’s my point. If you have the ability to throw on some sunblock and get somewhere warm, why are you still reading this? Now’s the time. We have amazing deals, some of the most affordable peak-season vacation packages we have ever offered. So pack those bags and get beach bound, babies. There’s no better way to burn off the calories consumed over the holiday than breaking a sweat poolside. And please feel free to post your pictures and stories to our Facebook site. It’s the only way this chilly girl can live vicariously through your travels.