An Open Letter to Chicken Little

Mssr. Little,

It appears as if the sky is not yet falling. My morning commute was the same as it ever was ("same as it ever was, same as it ever was...") save for a few snow flakes here and there. Imagine my surprise when I woke up this morning to find the world having not ended, the heavens still intact, and the ground not covered in a hazardous brew of ice, snow, and frogs. And I cannot help but feel a little duped.

What a fool I was to actually stop at the Teeter yesterday and purchase items such as milk, eggs, and bratwurst (for what is a snow day without beer and brats) alongside the thousands of cautiously optimistic Arlingtonians all quietly hoping for a legitimate Sick Day. But alas, you were wrong and I am right -- right here at work, that is. So I ask you Chicken, why do you lie? Why do you taunt? Why do you so consistently fail in your prognostications? And why did I believe you this time?

Now I am aware of the dangers of tempting Fate, and calling you out like this may in fact curse we with a wretched eastward commute home. There is still plenty of low pressure left for something nasty to yet to occur and the day is young. But until that happens, I call you a punk and a liar and I shall no longer be subscribing to your newsletter.

Sincerely,

HD