It's the Most Horrible Time of the Year (Ding Dong Ding Dong)

Maybe you don't know this about me, but I belong to a minority...actually, it seems, one of the most hated minorities, in this part of the world anyway. Through much of the year, the abject discrimination to which my minority is subjected, goes virtually unnoticed. I even forget that I'm in this minority during the spring, summer, and most of the fall. But along about this time of the year, the hate speech starts.
That's right. I said it. The sort of rhetoric to which I'm subjected at this time of the year is nothing short of hate speech. People who would never stoop to make racist remarks think nothing of hurling ridicule at my minority. And, I have to be honest, it hurts.
It hurts so much, that for years I've been reluctant to admit that I am a part of a minority group that is so despised. When I have, in the past, admitted who I truly am, people scrunch up their faces as if I just offered them a vial of bird flu.
But the gloves are coming off. I've come to the realization that I'm proud of who I am. Let the critics take their best shots. I just don't care anymore. I've closeted my true feelings through the years, but now I'm coming out of the closet...so to speak.
Here goes. I'm admitting publicly. My name is Steve C. and I love snow.
There, I said it. And, no, I don't think it shows a warped side of me to love snow. Yes, I've heard all the arguments, mainly from my bigoted mother, "Don't you care about all the people who are killed in accidents in the snow?"
Yes, I do care. But, I also care about those people who die of heat strokes in the summer. That doesn't mean I'm going to be prejudiced against sun lovers. But maybe I'm just a little more tolerant than most.
What really gets my goat, are those weathermen who hate snow. I would think almost all meterologists would love a weather event as beautiful as snow. And, secretly, they probably do. But, unlike me, they're too afraid to admit their love for snow. So, what do they do? They go on air and utter one of the most horrific statements that a snow-lover must ever be forced to listen to.
Listen for it this year. You'll hear it everytime the forecasters have promised snow, only for us (here in Central Virginia) to get cold rain. I truly think Richmond could be called the Cold Rain Capital of the World. Anyway, after the beautiful fluffy white stuff has failed to fall, despite all the meterological promises made, these weather jerks will come on and say, "Well, we dodged a bullet this time."
In other words they are rejoicing that they got the forecast wrong. In fact, when it comes to snow, the weather forecasters are wrong virtually every single time. But, they have an excuse. No matter how long they've been doing the weather in Richmond, they continue to predict snow that never comes. And, then, after rejoicing about that dodged bullet, they'll proclaim, as if they just came up with this, "Well, we're right on the rain/snow line and it's so hard to predict."
If it's so hard to predict, then stop predicting it, unless you are sure. These weather guys just love to rub it in to us snow lovers. They're so happy to report that just thirty miles west or thirty miles north of town, they're getting a ton of snow. And here, in the Richmond area, we're getting cold rain. Big whoop! Cold rain is the most boring of all meterological events. Every drop is just a cruel reminder that just north of here there's a blizzard going on.
As I write this, it's snowing. But will it turn to cold rain in a few moments? If history is any indicator, probably. I'll get my hopes up. I'll be dreaming of a white Tuesday and there'll probably be just a wet Tuesday. This is a cruel time of year.
Speaking of which, just a little side gripe. As I flip through the radio dial, looking for something worth listening to, I keep landing on Christmas music, of which I'm not a huge fan. But, one thing I would like to know. Is there any Christmas music being played that was recorded by people still living. This is truly a Burl Ives/Karen Carpenter time of year. And, yet, somehow, the radio programmers think we want to listen to all this dead guy and gal music, nonstop for thirty days.
This is a miserable time of year...Brenda Lee and cold rain. It's too much. I think I'll go outside and try to build a cold rainman.
Better yet, I think I'll write a new song for the season. Tell me what you think:

It’s the most horrible time of the year
With the weathermen saying
That we will go sleighing
Yet nothing appears.
It's the most horrible time of the year

It's the sap-sappiest season of all
With non-stop Christmas music
Enough to make you sick
And only cold rain falls
It's the sap- sappiest season of all

There'll be lots of forecasting
For snow that will not be lasting
But no one takes the fall
It’s the most horrible time of them all

Okay, it needs a little work, but it’ll at least give you something to hum through the day.