I really can't accept the fact that enormously fat snowflakes are falling at triple speed outside of my window this afternoon. I demand a refund. Yes, I did rebuke my French-businesswoman friend Jennyfer for complaining about the prospect of snow last night, as she carefully placed a pair of buff-colored suede pumps with needle-sharp toes into her Herve Chapelier handbag & grimly tied a pair of duck boots to her dainty tootsies, all the while cursing elegantly in French; yes, I answered her grumbling by telling her that there was historical precedent for snow in April. But I wasn't in America when it last snowed in April, in 1996. I was in London, getting the English office of my phone sex enterprise off the ground, and walking amongst the daffodils wearing a little black jacket with leopard-print cuffs & a pair of jet-black cigarette pants. I only knew about the snow because the MB sent long letters about how it had ruined her Easter. So really I was not prepared for this.

Meanwhile, http://www.weather.com is waxing poetic about Old Man Winter waving his hands & drawing cabalistic symbols in the snow; also they are saying things like this:

Over the Southeast tomorrow, cloudbursts and scattered severe thunderstorms will erupt in a witch's' brew of trouble.

You're my witch's brew of trouble, baby.