The barometric pressure is dropping, there’s a cold front moving in from the North, and snot has frozen in my nose. Yes, I think it’s cold enough for me.
Why do complete strangers feel the need to ask me for a weather report? I just want to smack them in the head and say, “look around!” Obviously, no one in the U.S. or Canada feels that they can trust a trained meteorologist for an accurate forecast. Hence, we celebrate Groundhog Day.
It is on this day that Punxsutawney Phil will emerge from his burrow in Pennsylvania and predict the coming of spring. I’m curious as to how Phil, who has no calendar or alarm clock, knows that February 2 is his appointed show time. Do the good folks of Pennsylvania gently coax the little rodent out with a cattle prod? Does PETA know about this? Is it possible to fit the address, Punxsutawney, Pennsylvania on a standard number 10 envelope?
I’m kind of a wienie about the cold, so four years ago I took my aging anatomy and moved to South Carolina. Motto: Kind of like Florida, but without the hordes of angry mosquitoes. (Caution: double entendre ahead!) For those of you who are proud of your huge mosquitoes, remember that size doesn’t matter. The little guys can poke you just as hard. (Behave yourselves!)
But I digress.
I’m sorry for you folks around Chicago who are being blasted by the worst blizzard in recorded history. If it makes you feel any better, yours truly has to suffer through a little chilly weather too. I’ll leave it to you to check the weather channel, but just know that I have to put a robe over my underwear to go outside.
Whether you believe in it or not, the groundhog will have his say again this year. Personally, if someone poked me with a cattle prod, I’d leap back into my hole as six-week winter revenge. I’m thinking that we should change the holiday into Chipmunk Day. The little fellows are much more forgiving, and they love to hang out with nuts.