Every time Northern Virginia hears the word snow, we collectively lose our damn minds.
Milk disappears. Bread vanishes. Eggs are treated like contraband. And suddenly people who haven’t cooked since 2019 are emotionally support-shopping like Laura Ingalls Wilder.
Which brings me to a recent post in a local Facebook group—one that stopped me dead in my scrolling tracks.
“I’m ready for the damn snow,” the caption announced.
Reader, she was not.
On the table:
– Wine (fine, expected, encouraged)
– Cold brew coffee (sure, we love a caffeinated panic)
– Nerds
– Sour Patch Kids
– Pitted black olives
– A single cucumber (???)
And suddenly I realized something important:
If our survival during a snowstorm—or frankly, a zombie apocalypse—depended on this grocery haul, we would all perish immediately.
Now listen. I am not a minimalist pantry person. I, too, have an eclectic assortment of household staples. Somewhere in my house right now there are probably Nerds and Sour Patch Kids. I am not above chaos snacks.
But here’s the difference:
Those items exist incidentally, not as part of a deliberate emergency preparedness strategy.
Because what exactly is the plan here?
Day 1:
Cold brew and wine. Vibes. Confidence.
Day 2:
Nerds for breakfast. Sour Patch Kids for lunch. A handful of black olives for… electrolytes? Hope?
Day 3:
One cucumber, ceremoniously sliced, as morale collapses.
I commented—because I could not help myself—that black olives are the perfect complement to Nerds and Sour Patch Kids, and that very few people know this.
Her response was simply:
“Really”
And that’s when I knew.
She was not joking.
She thought I was offering a pairing suggestion.
This was not irony.
This was a woman who genuinely believed she had assembled a functional snowstorm spread.
And again—wine? Absolutely. No notes.
But everything else feels like what happens when you grocery shop exclusively by vibes and dopamine.
There is no soup.
There is no bread.
There is no protein.
There is no plan.
It’s just sugar, olives, caffeine, and confidence.
Which, to be fair, is how many of us live our lives—but not how we survive a weather event.
The thing is, I don’t even seek out “storm snacks.” I don’t suddenly think, Ah yes, the barometric pressure is dropping—fetch the Nerds. These items simply exist in my house alongside boring, sustaining foods that will, in fact, keep us alive if the power goes out.
This grocery list isn’t wrong.
It’s just… unhinged.
And honestly?
If the snow comes and this woman thrives on nothing but cold brew, candy, olives, and vibes?
I will have no choice but to respect her.
But I will not be joining her bunker.
Absurdities and Fires 