Some Kind of Joke

Mother Nature hates me.

She tortures me with mounds of snow, then teases me with what looks like sunshine behind thick, leaded smog that suffocates one slowly and prevents anyone who wants to live longer than a week from venturing outside.

Then, on the night Himself is supposed to arrive home from a week-long business trip, Mother Nature goes and forgets that The Frontier, no matter its winter weather, is a DESERT.

And deserts aren't supposed to get fog. Even deserts with big, polluted salty lakes to their west. Especially not fog so thick that one cannot see the major street mere yards from one's front door. Especially not fog that shuts down the airport - for hours.

The good news is, the air is not 5 times the government's definition of "lethal" today.

The bad news is, Himself is still indisposed on his business trip - having had to shell out money for another hotel room and more meals, and await the company's reimbursement [Side note: I bit my tongue and refrained from saying that renting a car and driving the 5 hours would be cheaper and faster than waiting - after all, Himself is likely glad for the delay - incapacitated wife, a dirty Woodstock (I can't bathe her without folding myself into a pretzel) and a house that looks, well, neglected at best].

Rumor has it he'll arrive sometime today, but the clouds overhead are thick and dark - a reminder that Mother Nature is in charge of this weather circus.

As one final blow to my psyche, the weather forecasters are predicting a snowstorm on Monday morning - just in time to make the morning commute miserable.

Forget about not hibernating, I'm changing my mind. Wake me up when it's sunny and dry and we let our lawns die on purpose because we live in a desert.