Who am I, the Weather, Man?

Didn't know it was going to snow last night.

Didn't know it was going to be nearly 50 degrees today.

Didn't know by the time I left the gym at 3 or so PM it would be below freezing.

I am not the weatherman. Partly because I am not a man. But also because I don't like the way I look on camera and am not a meteorologist (which I know is not a TV weatherman requirement but Doug Hill is, so if I wanted to run with the big dogs I would have to be one as well).

And though I have proven to you just now that I am not a weatherman, I must confess that I have not paid close attention to neither a well educated meteorologist, a TV weatherman nor a internet weather site (NOAAi gets my vote when I am paying attention!).

I should have paid attention.

Today, I took my snow white legs out into the world in a skirt sans tights. When I decided that this was a good idea the snow was melting fast. The sun was warm and the wind wasn't blowing, much to my dismay this didn't last through my super-muscleman-esque workout.

Heck, as I sit here typing my hands are growing numb from the cold (which inevitably makes my spelling even worse because my fingers don't hit the proper keys at the appropriate times). My feet are icy but I could have changed into pants and slippers if I had had the forethought to do so, but my mind isn't really working at this speed this time of day. (And defiantly not after a rather rigorous midday workout.)

In the future I, especially during times like these when "global warming" should really get a new name (climate change, perchance??) and the days are superdy-duperdy unpredictable, I shall consult a weather forecast. I know that they are not always accurate but I am not yet skilled enough to use my psychic abilities to predict the changes in my environment.