it's a steely gray saturday morning.
the air is thick and cold like i suspect a meat warehouse might be.
my friends on the weather channel are talking it up about our first snow.
it all sounds so promising to one who believes snow puts the "mas" in christmas.
but if you know anything about the west new jersey rt 78 corridor, along which i live, then you know it is the dmz between rain to the south and snow to the north.
as such, you can't be sure what you're going to get.
the truth is, usually it's neither.
more often than not it is a mutant slush the density of uranium.
and when i rank precipitation, mutant slush is at the very bottom of a long list.
it's like kissing my great aunt bibbit, which under the best of circumstance was bad enough but lately she's been quite dead.
the point is most of the time the promise is as good as it's ever going to get.
so i'll take it right now and pretend the best is to come, knowing full well the kissing will commence soon enough.
cause if you know anything about bob, then you know such is bob's life.