Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow

Ever since my schedule for this year was set, I've been bragging about it. Not in terms of the jobs themselves, but in terms of the weather. Autumn in Chicago, winter in Houston, spring in New York. Sounds perfect, doesn't it? And so far, it has been. Crisp fall days, changing leaves, hot cocoa, and most importantly, fall clothes. Velvet blazers, cashmere scarves, cable-knit tights, jeans tucked into riding boots, sweater dresses...this is what I live for. Sure, it rained some, but mostly it's been idyllic, with just enough unseasonably warm days sprinkled in to give my favorite silver ballet flats a workout.

I have no complaints. Except...

This is Chicago. In December. Is it too much to ask for one teeny tiny snowfall before I leave? It doesn't even need to stick—I just want to feel it. Real honest-to-goodness Midwestern snow. Where is it? Time's running out, and there's not a flake in sight.

Besides which, if I leave now, without having experienced even a little bit of the infamous brutal winter, I'm going to have to be physically restrained from moving here the minute I get the chance. Because so far, Chicago hasn't given me any reason not to.

Come on, I dare you.