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One recent afternoon at school, a few classmates nearly trampled my desk in their rush to crowd around the window. What caused this stampede? A few flakes of miserable snow.
As they squealed with delight, I shuddered. They saw pretty specks of white fluttering from the sky while I saw dandruff accumulating on everything.
Call me the Grinch, but I hate snow with a livid passion. I want to move far, far away to a land where it doesn’t exist. Like Florida.
Why do I harbor such hatred for this miracle called snow?
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