Winter storm Jonas much more chill than brothers

Once upon a time, long, long, ago, like three weeks ago, in a place not so far away, there was a freshman neophyte enjoying her first win­ter break of college. For the sake of privacy in this tale, I will not share her name, but it definitely was not me. I mean, the identity does not matter. But it was not me. Really. It’s not a big deal.

Anyway, this young plebeian had been excited for an opportunity to relax and see old friends since finals week. When the time came for her to return home, she packed her bags, even stop­ping to wish her shower shoes a sardonic good­bye. Then, she rode her valiant, reliable, and to­tally not lame steed Prius all the way home at a dignified canter of fifty-five miles an hour. The stables of Toyota had assured her that Prius was a specialized hybrid breed capable of this steady, unimpressive clip.

Now, she was about two weeks into vacation and all was well. She had gotten used to spending all day laying in her bedchambers, being lulled into complacency by that seductive nymph, Net­flix, and reveling in the bountiful glory of literally any food that is not from the Deece. One night, as the sun set on another day that was as unpro­ductive as it was long, the young woman closed her eyes and whispered, “I wish break were just a little bit longer.”

The words caught on a cobweb in a corner of the room left undusted and was blown out the window by the heavy snores of a middle-aged, slightly overweight dog. The cobweb drifted onto the street and began its long journey down the road. Which then ended after it boarded a city bus, borrowed some spare change from a strang­er, had to sit next to some weirdo, experienced frustration over some light traffic, and arrived at its destination.

The final resting place for the web was the home of my… I mean… the young woman’s high school acquaintance who had recently convert­ed to Wicca because she “was really… could you pass the bong… feeling it.” The cobweb slipped under a crack in the door and onto the altar of the witch, who listened to the words, “I wish break were just a little bit longer.” Recognizing the voice of her friend, the witch decided to help her out. She gathered clouds together, gave the mass a side-swept haircut, and named it Jonas.

A few more weeks passed and break was near­ly over for the young Vassar student. She had all but forgotten her sleepy wish for a longer time at home. But then, either due to her witchy friend’s spells or maybe a low-pressure weather system, snow began to cover the roads of her homeland, Central Pennsylvania. Not a single horse and buggy or even a John Deere tractor could make it through the snow.

Despite the fact that she was unsure her majes­tic stallion Prius could make it through the weath­er, she was actually okay with it. After weeks of doing absolutely nothing, the idea of effort was extremely unappealing. The girl resigned herself to staying. “It will be all right,” she thought, “I can make use of the snow!” She made a few snowmen with undercuts that could substitute for her col­lege friends and started to bottle snow in mason jars to sell on Etsy as “Melt-in-Your-Mouth Wa­ter.” “Who needs college!” she thought.

But then she started to think about all the things she would miss about school. No more hanging out with friends. No more taking really interesting classes. No more chances to hang that Hieronymus Bosch print she got for Hanukkah in her room because after one semester of Art His­tory she fancied herself a classy, connoisseur of the fine arts. Then it hit her: There would be no more Nilda’s. “I need to get back to Poughkeep­sie!” She cried.

Thinking that perhaps her newly-Wiccan friend might have been involved, the student stopped by the witch’s altar and begged for her to reverse the spell. “Why, Evelyn—

Okay fine, this story is about me. I did abso­lutely nothing during winter break! I was a lethar­gic bum and I don’t care who knows. Hi Mom. Anyway, back to the story:

“Why, Evelyn, you can break the spell anytime you want to! Just put on your iridescent Birken­stocks, click your heels three times, and say, “There’s no place like Vassar! There’s no place like Vassar!” So I did and much like the Disney Channel sitcom of the same name, the blizzard, Jonas, was short-lived. The roads cleared up and Prius was able to make the journey upstate, back to this wonderful place. As she turned onto Ray­mond Avenue, my spirited filly whinnied as if to announce, “The hipsters are coming! The hip­sters are coming!” And surely they came: one if by land, two if by the new location of UpC.

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