Second-Guessing The Guessers

T'was the night before Christmas, and all through the house...WAIT! No t'wasn't! T'was the night before a forecast sleet and snow storm, and all through the Mansion, two creatures were stirring, betting a king's ransom, that we will have a day off on Friday, and perhaps get out early Thursday.

So what if I had a test planned for Friday? I don't think the students will mind. Of course, Hillbilly's Law decreed that we would get a card to pick up a package at the dead-mouse-smelling post office tomorrow after 12:00, and a phone message that my belated bifocals are ready at the Charlatans Optical Delusions Emporium and Professional Prevaricators Shoppe. This might not sound like an issue for city folk, who bebop hither and yon, erranding all the live-long day. But here in Hillmomba, one establishment is on the equivalent of Michigan's U.P., while the other is on the little finger side of The Mitten. You must go around your elbow to get past the thumb.

"But Mrs. Hillbilly Mom," you say. "You will have the whole of your half-day for travel if you get out early." Indeed. But the reason we will be getting out is because the roads have grown treacherous. Such a conundrum. Pick up the items before they are rendered unobtainable by a four-day deep freeze, or risk life and fish-belly-white age-spotted limb to snatch up the two preciouses before we are snowed in? If only there was a wise man such as King Solomon Newman on hand to suggest cutting those items in half, we'd find out if fetching them was more important to Mrs. Hillbilly Mom than riding The Pony home safely.

The Universe. Conspiring again.

Perhaps this great storm will go the way of all the others forecast by those idolized meteorology diploma-holders, and not show its bashful head.

Time will tell. I'm still setting my alarm. The fact that Thursday is my duty day skews the odds. And not in my favor.