i'm insane about weather. bad weather. i love it. what's wrong with me? right?
probably what's wrong with me is that at the very heart of it, i'm a lazy, no good, lousy, stinkin' slob. and bad weather lets me hide behind it.
bad weather doesn't ask much of you. it asks you to stay in your jammies and eat french toast.
it asks you to say, in your most pitiful voice, "kind sir, would you mind shoveling my walk for me? i'd do it myself, but i've got the bursitis, you know."
bad weather asks you to turn on "the price is right" and let it morph into "the young and the restless."
what it doesn't ask you is even better......
it doesn't ask you to put on your shorts, expose your fat thighs, and go play softball, which you're no good at.
bad weather doesn't ask you to water ski........in a bath-ing suit.
it doesn't ask you to mow the lawn or set up the croquet course or set up the badminton net.
it doesn't ask you to sweat.
but of all the things that bad weather asks and doesn't ask of you, not asking you to go to work is the best. try askin' a sunny july day not to ask you that.
the other thing is, bad weather is pretty. beautiful, even. you know how people always say, in the month of june, what a beautiful day we're havin'? i'm always tempted to answer them with, beautiful? beautiful? have you taken a look at your thighs in those shorts?
