You look out the window
and see a light accumulation of snow - one or two inches, you think. The day brightens and your wife dresses for work.
"I'll clear the plowbank at the end of the drive," you tell her, a way to say "I love you" in lieu of sending her flowers or buying her a diamond. And there won't be much of a plowbank, you think.
"Where did I go to school?" you ask yourself when you step outside with the shovel. There is considerably more snow out there than it appeared.
It's a full-blown plowbank.
There's enough snow that you're going to have to scoop the entire driveway.
How is it that the light accumulation piles up once you step outside to stand in it? That's not how it looked through the window.
Hope meets reality, I guess, and - once again - reality wins.
Damn it, I hate it when that happens.