For Memorial Day, the Queen B and I invited our friend S to join the Nana B and the Ladybug for barbequed hamburgers and chicken. During dinner, the conversation turned to the winters of yesteryear, degrading very quickly into verbal battle of one-upmanship reminiscent of the scar scene from Jaws.
Nana B: One winter in Tahoe, the snow was so deep that they had to plow it with a dump truck, and it displaced so much snow that it crushed our BMW, leaving us without a car for the entire winter.
Queen B: One winter in Tahoe, the snow was so deep that we were trapped inside our house for three days, and we had to survive on only bread and water and hot dogs.
Friend S: One winter in South Dakota, the blizzard was so bad that were were cut off from the main road and our neighbors for a week, and we had to survive on only water boiled from the snow and the livestock who survived the storm that we had to kill for food.
Me: One winter in Southern California, it actually got down to forty degrees out. In the daytime.
Sometimes it totally sucks to have grown up in California.