Now, Don't Get Me Wrong

It occurred to me that some might misinterpret my post from Monday, the one wherein I was taunting and making fun of the local weather forecasters and their inability to get anything right. I was just making fun of those who cast their lots with oracle bones and tea leaves...or satellites and thirty-year statistical averages. Actually, for the weather shamans around here, oracle bones and tea leaves might be a step up.

Here's the thing, though: while I enjoy taunting the weather people about how much snow we would get and how cold it is, I really love this weather. I like cold weather. I love the bracing burn of the cold air on your cheeks in the morning (either set) when you step from the cozy warmth of the house...or the temperature comfort of my house (*grumbles something indecent about insulation codes in the early 80s*).

Granted, I did live in one of the snowier parts of America for four years, which might lend itself to why I love this time of year so much. Although, one year we got 48 inches of snow in December. That may have been a little too much. I'm a tall man, but 48 inches of snow is well past the bottom of my scroat, and that's the cut-off level for tolerance in my world.

So, naturally, this past weekend when it was snowing, it was awesome. For one, I love the snow. For twosies, it doesn't snow too much down here in North By God Carolina. And for threesies, the snow makes my friend, JoeZone, cry. Not that I like seeing Joe cry; the snow just makes me think of his sadness and how I can tease him about it on Monday.

>However, as much as I enjoy the snow, the cold, the gloomy, overcast skies, there are two other things that I enjoy more than anything about this time of year:

Tight sweaters and knee-high fuck-me boots.