Can’t help it, pretty sure it’s in my DNA. The only thing anybody is talking about is the weather. If there is one thing that is sure to send me into a tailspin before you can say Bob’s your uncle, it’s weather. I get it from my dad. (Sorry, Dad. You know I speak the truth.) My dad can tell you everything you want to know and then some about the weather in his parts. And in mine. And probably in yours, just ask him.

The problem is that everywhere you turn right now–Internet, television, radio–you hear that the Worst Storm in The History of the Universe is bearing down on us. We’re all gonna die. I should keep the radio and television turned off and go about my business. And I would, but then I would worry about what I was missing. It could be important, and I might be really sorry were I to avert my gaze for a critical nanosecond. And there was also that text from Handsome Chef Boyfriend asking me to pick up a case of water on my way home from work because he had gone into another store earlier and they were all out of water. <Cue stomach ache.> Just to be perfectly clear: HCB never worries about the weather. Ever.

See what I mean? worryworryworryworryworryworry


Probably best to distract myself. HCB made the kiddos their supper (snow day tomorrow, woo hoo), and then we got busy making our own: winter salad of spinach, baby kale, beets, garbanzos, olives, mushrooms, and flank steak. Sorry, vegetarian friends, but it was amazing.

Think I’ll go chew my nails some more. It’s sunny and warm somewhere.

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