Ah, the weather. So tedious to discuss, yet so integral to our lives. It affects our moods, activities, domiciles, food supply, transportation, and, perhaps utmost, our shoes.
My poor all-weather boots, purchases five years ago at Sears, are doomed. Last winter, they slipped subtle hints of their fatigue by leaking trace amounts of water. Yesterday, with about three inches of snow followed by several hours of famed New England “wintry mix,” several pints of Boston slush found its cold wet way through the cracks in the exterior.
Every curb in the city has a moat of dirty water in front of it; the more industrious pedestrian will diligently circumnavigate around the water, but after I stepped in one camouflaged as concrete and soaked my feet and socks, I threw caution to the wind and simply plowed through every four-inch puddle in my path like a madwoman.
Speaking of annoying winter moments, yesterday morning, luxuriating on a treadmill with my own *personal television monitor*, I flipped through all of the local news stations. All of them devote about half of their coverage to the weather whenever the slightest flake is forecasted. We get gutsy on-location reporters who are actually outside. In the snow. Pointing at cars and plow trucks and just generally looking uncomfortable, like “Hey, what am I supposed to say? It’s just snowing.”
When they toss it back to the anchors in their nice warm studio, those air heads bleat inanities like “You’ll definitely need to scrap your car this morning” and “Give yourself a few extra minutes on the roadways” and “Grab a blanket to stash in your car in case something tragic happens.” Now that I don’t live with my parents, I don’t know what I’d do without my local news anchors to advise me in these hard, hard times of snow.
