All I Can Say About The Weather Is WOW

I would love to do a long research paper on weather reporters. About two days ago, the voice of my favorite weather man began to rise. As of this morning, he sounds like a cat whose tail is caught in a wheel. Panic, instilled by screeching over the airways, is less than subtle. Yet, it makes me wonder if I am the only person who notices the verbal elevation, the talking too fast, and the eyeballs about ready to pop out of the face. These people should have a panel of evaluators, who are directly linked to the paycheck. The less willing to behave within normal perimeters, the less money they are paid. That ought to improve weather reporting during terrible times.

And it is terrible. There is about two inches of ice on everything. It is a 'broken hip,' kind of a day. Which is making me look around and wonder what I am going to do, inside, all day. According to the hysterical screaming of the weatherman, we are going to get a foot of snow on top of the ice. So I may be in for several days. It might be time to go to the basement and sort my nails.