“Flurries” is a BAD word.

“Let’s go for a drive. We haven’t been out since we got back from Merida last month.”

“Okay, where?”

“The mountains, I love driving there.”

“Okay.” We had our Lexus SUV packed and on our way in an hour. At one point the weather channel said Possible Snow Flurries and we decided it was clear and “Flurries” didn’t bother us.

We were enjoying a view from a turnout when the sky darkened in minutes and the storm blew in minutes later. We started back down but were blinded by snow and pulled off when we couldn’t see the edge any more. We had a pile of blankets in the back and used them to cover the windows and build a nest.

Some time that night, huddled for warmth, I felt her breathing slowing thinking . . . good . . . won’t have to watch me die . . . then I slipped into that vast void of black with the comforting thought I wouldn’t have to watch her either. They’d find us like this in the spring.

Then the car jerked, waking us and rolling us into a bundle of confusion with me thinking we’d fallen off the edge. We heard voices and started tearing down the blankets. The voices got very excited and the hatch was ripped open; it was frozen shut. We heard, “My god, they’re alive,” and “Holy crap, how?” and a shouted “GET WARM BLANKETS NOW...” in a minute we were wrapped in them and carried to a very warm van which started back down the mountain.

A year later we still get flack from friends and family about it and we’ll never feel the same about “Flurries” again.

I want to find whoever wrote the weather report and maybe a couple broken legs later convince them “Flurries” is a BAD word.