On Speaking Too Soon
Yesterday, I noted that it was not raining per the forecast, but rather snowing large fluffy flakes. With youthful exuberance, I was sure to be snowboarding this morning. A little more than an hour after I wrote that, it started raining. And not just raining, mind you — but pouring rain; the sort of December rainstorm to which by now I should be accustomed. Were it 5 or 10 degrees colder, that volume of rain would be several inches of fresh snow. Alas, Michigan is a harsh mistress.
Some people complain that my car is too dirty and that I should take better care of it. They would submit to you, evidence like this:
Yes, the back seat of my Jeep looks like that, for the better part of the three grey months we colloquially refer to as “winter” here in Michigan. I have to keep it that way, because just as a freak downpour can ruin my weekend, on any given day a freak snowstorm is probably just as likely to have me leaving work an hour or two early in order to hit the slopes for a few precious hours, before the next 5-day stretch of 50+ degree weather melts it all.
In Michigan, even the winter-sport enthusiasts can hate the season.
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