Betty, shut-in that she is, had been looking forward to a white and drifting snow blanket that would transform D.C. into a 19th century wonderland during what we Yankee fans call "the off-season". Away, cars! Come down, snow! Pile up on cars!
There's nothing like a snowdrift and the delicate flakes that graze it to make any kid happy to laze (or "rest") indoors, to draw back window shades and follow the drift of nature's dominance. Peace out, car-clogged street scenes of yesteryear.
Even a little wind is welcome if it swirls the icy grains and turns windows into unwitting screens for a characterless drama.
So what's with the drippy gray ice-rain? Betty knows there should be something beautiful about snowflakes that disappear the instant they make contact with urban life and lifeless forms, but all they do is make her recognize how cold it really is.