Prepare, midwesterners, for a collective moaning and groaning and general atmospheric cursing (to say nothing of tedious “global warming” remarks from friends and acquaintances alike) as one mother lode of arctic air lays its heavy ass across the landscape. If we’re lucky, the highs will nudge the mercury above 0 degrees this weekend. Throw in some 25 mph wind gusts, and the temperatures become irrelevant. In fact, we will measure the next several days by a) number of trips we make out of the house b) layers of clothing we are wearing while inside c) layers of clothing we don to venture outside and d) the number of times we had to crank on the engine before our car starts.
It hardly gets better than this. Unless you care to talk about the winter of 1976-77 when Lake Michigan froze solid and I was housebound with an infant. My entertainment that winter was watching dead bodies get delivered to the funeral home next door while I nursed the baby. Really. You want to talk post-partum blues, talk to the queen mother of angst here.
So who needs a laugh? Mr. Deity is back and he has a tough interview to negotiate.