My Convertible Life

Friday, December 18, 2009

An Open Letter to WRAL's Meterologist

A friend emailed the following letter last night -- it cracked me up, so I asked him if I could post it on my blog today (in lieu of the usual Friday's Five) as his blog is currently on hiatus. Thankfully he said yes (because he's a lawyer type, I couldn't publish without permission for fear of legal action).

The post is all the funnier because of the big, fluffy white flakes currently falling outside my window. Better luck next time, my friend -- last night, I was sure you'd be right!

Dear Greg,

I am on to you. It's a twisted little game you got going on, and I will not let it stand. See, Fishel, we've been down this road before, you and me. And as our former president famously said, "Fool me once, shame on — [pauses] - shame on you. Fool me — You can't get fooled again."

Here is the deal. You played this wintry weather scare game on the night of my wife's baby shower. Your dire warnings of 'frozen precipiatation' scared all my native southern friends from venturing outdoors. You made it sound like a flake of snow was akin to the ebola virus. Your 28 years of experience freaking out the natives might get you some street cred with the bread-buying, beer-hoarding locals, but I am not from here and I am hip to your reindeer games.

So, anyway, on that faithful night two years ago, me and my poor wife were just sitting at friend's house, alone, in the dark. No friends to wish our new arrival well. No cute baby clothes. No silly games we have decided here in the 21st are somehow an acceptable way to wish a couple well. And the worst part? The roads were dry. Bone dry. Yancey County dry. Dry enough for even the most southern of my friends to drive safely on.

So this time, Fishel (if that's your real name), I am choosing to ignore your doppler 5000 and your accuweather predictions.

I am going to the Raleigh Times at 11:55 tomorrow. I am going to enjoy my [monthly lunch group]. And when I hear your dire predictions of wintry weather, I will spitefully laugh and ruefully think of my young son and how he was forced to go without shower presents, all because you couldn't get your shower predictions right.

Yours in accurate forecasting,

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