Oh, boy, Diary!

Oh, boy oh boy oh boy oh boy oh boy!

Ahem! But this is unseemly! Just because I'm excited about the upcoming snowstorm doesn't mean that I should "freak" over it.

Actually, there are very few justifications for freaking, as it turns out: a lottery win of over $100 would no doubt justify the act; an unexpected raise at work; a kindling realization deep down in your pitter-patter that you've found -- and you really can't believe it -- the love of your life: more power to those who freak under those exceptional circumstances, but freaking for simple snow? For plain old snow? For regular dumb old snow snow? I mean, I don't know, it's somehow gauche. I'd just as soon not associate myself with the practice, thank you very much. And yet....

I've always loved snow as if it were going out of style -- and with the mild winters we've been having around here for the last several years, I was starting to fear that it had indeed gone completely out of fashion. But guess what? (Oh, boy oh boy oh boy!) The forecast calls for three inches of you-know-what beginning this afternoon: three wonderful inches of you-know-what! Why, we haven't had three inches of you-know-what around here in years!

Hm, I'd better make sure I have one of those whatcha-ma-call-its in my glove compartment so that I can clear the you-know-what off my car before I leave for work later today. Who knows? I may even need some doohickeys for my tires. Of course, I should have already purchased a what's-it at the drug store but they've surely all been scarfed up by now by the notoriously nervous nellies of the region's car-driving population. Are you kidding? They "do a Redd Foxx" every time you say the word "snow": they stare up at the heavens with their arms stretched out wide and shout, "Elizabeth, I'm a-comin' to join ya!"

Careful, Brian, you're starting to freak again! (Breathe, child, breathe!)

It's odd, too. I can understand my youthful exuberance for wintry weather on account of it sometimes shut down my local school system. It would have done your heart good to see my siblings and I huddled about the kitchen radio of a weekday morning, waiting for those dear, dear announcers to say the magic words: "Montgomery County Schools will be closed today" (I lived in Maryland at the time). We'd even record the joyous pronouncement on reel-to-reel and play it back repeatedly to relive the moment: "Montgomery County Schools will be -- w-w-will be -- closed -- w-w-w-will be closed today." But why do my eyes still pop when I see snow in these lonesome latter years; I mean, I'm a big boy now, right?

Perhaps I should visit an eye doctor for answers.

He'll be like: "What you say? The eyes be popping when is falling the snow?" And I'll be like, "Doc, what is it?" And he'll go: "Young man, I'm afraid you've got.... Bette Davis eyes! Ha ha!" And I'll be like: "Cut it out, Doc, I'm serious here!"