December 02, 2002
A Spell of Weather

We've had a spell of weather here lately (as if we ever have anything else, come to think of it).

8 am. A few wet flakes float to the ground on Michigan Avenue. I see a woman in front of me in bare legs and a miniskirt, and feel very cold.

11 am. Coworkers keep wandering over to the window to look at the swirling eddies between our office building and the neighboring buildings.

"Three to six inches, I heard," says one balefully.

Noon. I consider going outside for some air, think again, decide to go to the CVS and buy new toothbrushes instead.

4 pm. Coworker stranded in neighboring midwestern state calls. She has spent the day at the airport, unhappily for her. She will be out tomorrow as well, unhappily for me.

7 pm. I walk part of the way home, having spent most of the day covering ground between my desk and the printer. There's only a few inches on the ground, and many industrious people have already been at work shoveling. I do pass a few shovelers on my way. They inevitably pause as I crunch by, and I smile, guiltily.

As I near home, I expect to get a phone call from my family, wanting details on the weather, the start of a conversation where they will inevitably try to prove that Florida is the superior state to live in.

Maybe they're right, but I don't think so tonight. Not at all.

Posted at December 02, 2002 09:39 PM