I snubbed my nose at the Emergency Broadcast System's warning of an impending snowstorm. Although it isn't an event worthy of being pre-warned by sirens, it turns out we get enough accumulation and ice to warrant a near shut-down of our neck of the woods. Power goes out, schools are cancelled, and the interstate has to be closed down due to accidents. I apologize for my cavalier attitude; I was mistaken to be so glib.
However, here's the caveat: The weather forecasters told us over and over again that our area would NOT, under any circumstances, be impacted by the snow.
Hahahahaha, even as I type those words, I am kicking myself in the ass. When ... WHEN ... have I ever listened to the forecasters? Do I not make sport of their livelihoods? Do I not poke fun at them for being incapable of reading multiple computer models? Can I not better predict the weather by looking at a good old-fashioned radar map online? Why, oh, why would I ever listen to the meteorologists now?
By the time the snow stops, it is reasonably late. I have to get the driveway and walkway shoveled; the the six-or-so inches of snow is horrifyingly laden with the rain that fell before it changed over. The damn stuff is heavy as all get-out. By the time I'm done, both of my Achilles tendons scream bloody murder.
I admit when I'm wrong, even when I'm not really wrong, nor completely wrong, nor even wrong enough. Now, if you don't mind, this sort-of-wrong person with the exhausted limbs is going to bed. I don't care if it's only dinner time -- I've already been wrong today, so it's probably a safe bet I won't be wrong again today.
