Friday, December 18, 2009

I Hear Tell of a Nor'Easter

I couldn't sleep when I got home from girls night last night.  Instead I turned on the tube and did some work.  After a few minutes I noticed that I had the local 11 o'clock news on and there was talk of a Nor'easter in these here parts. 

And a bread index.  Yeah, you heard me.  A bread index.  The weatherman, who likes to be called "Topper" (don't get me started) has an image of a stack of bread loaves all piled up and he measures the severity of a storm by how many loaves of bread we should all go nutty and buy.  Apparently, we are at 'loaf seven'.  Can I coin that?  "We're at loaf seven, Captain!  She won't hold out much longer!!" 

What the.... I thought.  Pffftt.. I don't buy it.

I'm a New Englander. I cut my driving teeth on one of the worst winters we had in over a decade.  I learned to drive on ice-filled potholes and roads with jagged cracks so deep you thought it was 2012 and the earth was going to swallow you and your car up whole.  The hill near my house that I had to climb up every day on the way to school, Oh yes, I'm going there, was so steep and slicked with inches of ice, that I once slid all the way back down it. Backwards.  In my car.  All part of the daily drive to school.  High school.

Driving in snow doesn't bother me.  Watching plows put sand on 95 AFTER it's begun snowing? That bothers me.  Seeing maintenance men put clumping kitty litter down on a sidewalk?  That bothers me.  Seeing a bread loaf index?  Yeah, that kind of bothers the cantankerous New Englander dwelling inside me too. 

Remember people, pump the breaks. Just pump it.   

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