I don't know why it is that this chafes me so, but every time the meteorologist comes on the television screen and says something about a "really nice day tomorrow," I want to scream, "Nice for whom?"
Mom tells me I was born in the midst of a heat wave long years ago, and, quite frankly, I've resented warm sunny weather ever since.
For starters, I like storms. If I had a good, solid shelter, I'd probably even admit I like tornadoes. I like the way the wind shifts and the temperature drops and the sky changes from cerulean to varied shades of gray -- everything from slate to pale ash, with bursts of crisp white.
But more, I like to breathe. Warm sunny days make pollen. Warm sunny days kick up dust. Warm sunny days stir those dried mold spores and bring them hither. Warm sunny days are cruel.
So I now sit here, listening to the rumbles of approaching thunder, and the smile rises from deep within me. It's going to be a really nice day, today.