Yesterday we received a code 3 alert. I knew it was coming. In fact, I’ve saved up the money to pay the fine. Living in Zone B you don’t just simply “forget” to hang the requisite Christmas ornaments. But I’m putting my foot down. This is the land of the free and the brave after all. In my heart of hearts I realize that it’s a fool’s revolution and that I’m just one feeble voice howling against the might of the state. I should have started my protests right after July 4th fireworks. Circulated a petition among my neighbors that night while we were all gathered near the dying cactus and mushrooms. But who wants to think about another Christmas without snow while wilting in the summer heat? Maybe that’s why we in Zone B must bear the brunt of keeping up the holiday spirit, whereas those who live in Zone C and on, can get away with a few twinkly lights. They tell us it’s our honor and duty. And that people coming from miles away can point to our homes and tell their children how once upon a time it was so cold at this time of year that snow would fall. “Snow?” the wide-eyed children would say, parroting back this strange and exotic word in unison.