Despite -- or perhaps because of -- spending four consecutive really bad winters in the coldest and most miserable place on Earth, I have not developed a fondness for the wet white stuff.
A tolerance for it? Sure. A certain jadedness? Definitely. A marked inability to cope with the wackaloons and weirdoes who drive 15 miles under the speed limit for no real reason and who buy grocery stores out of bread and milk and eggs when the words "wintry mix" enter the minds of local weathermen? Abso-friggin-lutely.
I dunno ... maybe I can eventually be convinced.