Well, it's finally happening. We're getting our first blast of "Arctic" air tomorrow. Or so they say. These lovely, lovely days of upper 60s/lower 70s are coming to an end. And, you know, I can handle the cold. I don't like it, mind you, but I can handle it.
What I really hate is the added bonus of precipitation they're predicting. "Wintry mix," the meteorologists call it. What a terribly misleading name. "Wintry mix" should be a delightful concoction found in a cut glass bowl at a holiday party, next to the chips and salsa and the spinach dip in the bread bowl. It should contain red and green M&Ms and nuts and all manner of tasty, toasted morsels, perhaps covered in a light dusting of powdered sugar. It should NOT be the sleety, dirty, nasty, not-quite-snow-and-not-quite rain stuff that mixes with the dirt on the road to form an even nastier gray sludge that gets sprayed all over your car whenever a giant SUV carelessly races past you.
I call foul. Wintry mix, my ass.