It's snow fun

I'm beginning to get a little tired of this, said Mr. H. as he turned down the sound on the television. The weather seers had been perusing their thesauruses for yet another adjective for snow- it was only halfway through February and they had already burned through their entire allotment of positive descriptive phrases- and now were just gesturing towards the map of central New York and shaking their heads disgustedly. That accursed rodent in PA needs to see an ophthalmologist, muttered Mr. Hall.
Mrs. H. was used to these periodic spells and, after disappearing into the kitchen, reappeared holding two glistening glasses. More disturbed by the weather casters' choice of tie than she is by the forecast, she is often overheard saying given that there is relatively little difference from one day to the other in February's weather, you'd think they could slip out and pick up something a little less garish. This will make you feel better about the weekend, she said, or at the very least, feel less of anything.
Mr. H. is very particular about his martinis; chilled Tanqueray, just a suggestion of vermouth, and the requisite three olives. When the martini moment takes over Mr. Hall, Mrs. H.'s companion to that is her own invention: The Foggy Monocle. Instead of the olives, Mrs. Hall rubs the rim of the glass with a key lime slice and then drops it into the martini. (ed. note: If on their next shopping spree, the Gentle Reader happens upon a bag of key limes at the local market, they have only to slice them thinly into coins, lay them on a cookie sheet in the freezer til they freeze solid, and then bag them up for future use.) Mr. Hall once remarked that freezing the limes made them cloudy; why not just call it The Cataract, he quipped. Mrs. H. has had to remind him before not to be bitter just because of the weather.