When a recent storm began dropping some flurries, my plan was set in motion.

It was simple and to the point. Just one word, and one goal: Annihilation.

I was going to kick some winter storm butt. Because, nope. A predicted 6-plus inches? Not here. Not on my driveway.

I’ll refer to my strategy as “Plan XVI” because Roman numerals sound important and this was of the utmost level of importance. It meant not letting any snowfall linger, loiter or languish. As in, no flakes congregating to create slushy piles the size of skyscrapers in Dubai, or even rivaling the height of those beach pyramids Frankie and Annette used to build.

With Plan XVI, these invaders would be lucky to get as high as the amount of cake icing allowed on a New Year’s resolution diet!

That meant keeping the frosty sky divers at a trace to an inch (“T-1,” as the meteorological lingo goes). I set out with a wide push broom and several swipes later, the T-1s were no longer dawdling on my blacktop.

With a method like this, I was living at Number 1, Easy Street, PA. Shooing those T-1s away with a push broom was much, much easier than using a shovel!

Confident that Plan XVI was already achieving the snow annihilation goal, I retreated to home base (aka my house) and began writing a to-do list: wrap coins, read book, watch birds, bake cookies. With this snow under control, I’d have so much free time to do relaxing Snow Day things!

As I stared outside to “watch birds” — and check off one to-do list item — I realized that the flakes were really starting to fall, and at a rate of zillions per minute!

I relied on outside sources, things like “The Guy on Facebook Who Draws Snow Maps,” “The Roll-Around Channel on TV” and “Asking My Cat If She Really Thinks We Are Going to Get ‘A Lot’ of Snow” to see what was in store. The answer wasn’t something I wanted to hear. Two inches per hour, they said (except for my cat, who was sleeping (again) and clearly not interested (again) in giving input).

Heavy snow. Uh, oh. Mother Nature was giving challenge.

But only the weak submit. At 17 minutes after each hour, I suited up. Hoodie. Hat. Gloves. Thermals. Boots. Socks.

And I went out. Swiping here and swiping there, and doing it all over again, I was keeping that white stuff at bay. Plus, I was pretty happy knowing that I wouldn’t have what I call “Shovelers’ Back.” Because when I do use a shovel, I don’t follow that doctor-recommended diagram of bend at the knees, scoop and deposit. I’m all about the straight-legged, twist and sling over-the-back style.

So as the afternoon wore on and the snow dropped as furiously as the bets at the local gas station’s skill machines, I was in and out. Warm the hands inside, then kick the storm’s butt outside.

By 6:17 p.m., it seemed the snow had given up its driveway infiltration plans — or maybe it hadn’t. I couldn’t really see what was happening, thanks mostly to the sun setting way too early nowadays.

By this point, a barrage of songs had been going through my head, mostly selections from the Beach Boys. I couldn’t decide if this playlist was “nice” or “terrible,” as I listened to my brain sing “Surfin’ Safari” for the thousandth time.

And then, many hours and 9,500 steps later, Plan XVI was a wrap! Just like that, I was done!

The laces on my boots were knotted and frozen — just like my fingers — so I might have been trapped for a while. But when freedom eventually came, it was time to settle in for my Snow Day To Do list items!

“Baking cookies” seemed like too much hassle (nothing new there; I haven’t made cookies since I was four years younger), but a hot chocolate, blanket and book was in order. Oh, the sweet rewards of a hard day’s work!

Let the Snow Day begin!

And that’s when the winds began to howl and torment with a new threat to my squeaky clean driveway: blowing and drifting snow.