Note to the Local Weatherman

Dear Local Weatherman,

When the first severe weather siren went off last night, we were already in the basement. The oldest was chatting with a friend. The two little ones were putting together a puzzle. Disney Channel was playing in the background.

We had been hearing all day that a bad storm was headed our way. Through my twitter feeds, I knew we only had about twenty minutes before it was in our immediate area.

We had already prepared.

There was a flashlight that worked on the bookshelf. The windows were closed and the dogs were inside. As previously mentioned, we were already in the basement.

The hail came first. I muted the television set and hushed the kids. For a few seconds, I listened as it bounced off the roof and sides of our house.

Not long after, the siren went off a second time. I could hear the wind. It was vicious. With a crash, the sky let loose.

My husband looked up from his phone.

“Huh, it’s coming down pretty hard.” he observed.

The kids didn’t notice. It didn’t last long.

A Facebook update confirmed my suspicions. The storm was out of our area. For extra precaution, we stayed in the basement a little while longer. Then we began our nightly bedtime routines.

Once the kids were down for the night, I settled in to watch the long awaited return of Glee. It had been weeks since a new episode aired, and to say that I was gleeful would be an understatement.

I just knew this was going to be a good one. The first twenty minutes had me smiling in delight.

Then, I see your face instead of Will Schuester's.

At first, I was confused. The storm was long gone. TiVo…I remembered. Silently, I laughed at myself.

Your enthusiasm for the weather was endearing. You were the epitome of calmness while describing the unrelenting, fierceness of this storm.

Five minutes passed. I began to wonder how much of the show I was going to end up missing. My husband noticed the panic on my face.

He began to fast forward. Twenty minutes and it was still your broadcast. In warped speed, I saw weather maps, your face and various sizes of hail.

After forty minutes, it was maps, video of rain, various sizes of hail and more of your face.

Then the recording ended.

I stopped breathing.

“Don’t worry,” my husband assured me. “I recorded that Raising Hope show in case something like this happened.”

I let out a sigh of relief. He pressed play.

Your face. Maps. Rain. Hail. YOUR FACE!

For an hour and a half, you reported on a storm…a storm that lasted no longer than ten minutes in any one area.

I understand you were “just doing your job.” I am not criticizing your thoroughness or dedication. You were quite successful in making the storm out to be something it was not.

Your self-indulgence does not go unnoticed nor does your flair for the dramatics.

Your extensive knowledge of the various sized shapes of hail (marble, ping pong and golf) and your technical ability with weather maps is outstanding.

However, in this particular situation, bigger is not better.

Your competition was able to provide accurate, up-to-date information without a single interruption in their regularly scheduled programs.

Because of your arrogance, I missed a much anticipated television program. You stole my relaxation, my entertainment and my time.

In the future, please consider taking your performance to a more appropriate format, such as The Weather Channel.

Sincerely,
A Momma Who Needs Her Glee