How's The Weather

Today I realized why J-Fed always had a problem with my job. It’s because he wasn’t aware of what I do. You see, for the last nine years he’s been under the impression that I’m a meteorologist, not a writer. I mean, I can see where he might get the two confused. A meteorologist studies the weather, and I research health articles for a living. The careers are almost interchangeable.

How did I come to such an epiphany one might ask? Well, it all started about 8 a.m. this morning as I was crunching on a deadline. Because he’s going to be “bogged down” with work over the next few weeks (i.e. working more than just two hours a day like he usually does), J-Fed decided to take a mental health day and do what he does best… play. There was much go carting on the agenda. However, before he could go, he needed to make sure that there was racing in the forecast. Translation: the skies had to be clear.

So instead of turning on The Weather Channel, he called his own personal meteorologist… me. And I’m not just talking about one call, I’m talking about a whole damn slew of them.

8:18 a.m.

“Kiki, what are you doing?” he asked. I’m getting a massage, watching the Today Show and eating a Western Omelet. What do you think I’m doing jerk-off? I’m frigging doing my job, the one they pay me for, the one that prevents the girls, the dogs, the cat and I from taking residence down at the local shelter. But I guess you wouldn’t know anything about working since all you’ve been doing lately is well, playing.

“I’m working, J-Fed. What’s up?” I said while typing away furiously. I’m almost certain he could hear the clicking of the keys, yet my intent to not break my concentration obviously went unnoticed.

Of course, most days I was lucky if J-Fed noticed I was even breathing. And that was only because if I wasn’t, who would ever keep the household running? You see, even from far away (in his apartment 0.5 miles down the road), J-Fed still needed me to have a pulse. God forbid I croaked and left him all this good fortune. He wouldn’t know where to begin.

“Can you look on the radar and tell me what the weather looks like at the track?” he oozed. Yes, I said, ooze like a big fat pimple rearing its ugly head.

“Man, I’m super busy. I really don’t have time. Sorry,” I told him. Although it would only take 20 seconds to look up the forecast, I was super slammed. I hung abruptly and got back to work, hating to even think about the short amount of time I’d just wasted talking to peabrain.

8:28 a.m.
“How’s the weather?” he asked. Was he kidding?

“I’m not sure J-Fed. You’re outside enjoying your day. I’m locked inside trying to meet a deadline. Which one of us is more likely to know how the weather is?” I replied smartly.

“You’re still working I assume,” he retorted.

“Yes, J-Fed. I’m working, as I likely will be for the next 12 hours. Don’t you know anyone else who can check the radar for you? I’ve got to go,” I said with a click. I blocked out the brief conversation desperately trying to stay in the zone. One small trip up from J-Fed and I could be mentally stunted for the remainder of the day. It was something I couldn’t afford.

9:23 a.m.
“Did you get your work done?” J-Fed beamed.

“Still working. Seriously. I’m busy. When I get a minute of down time, I’ll look it up. Ok?” I told him.

“Yes,” he sniffed. Of all the people who he talked to on the phone throughout the day, I was hard-pressed to believe that not one, not one single person, had access to the Doppler radar besides myself. Of course, he needed me to do it. Not because he wanted to see if I would, but just because it made him feel better knowing the forecast came from me. Do you know why? Because I’m the weather girl gosh darnit. Ok, the real reason… Because if he went up the track and his sorry ass got rained on, he could turn around and blame me for not reading the radar properly.

10:54 a.m.
“Kiki, how’s it going? Are you getting a lot of work done?” he said, trying to make small talk.

“50% J-Fed. That’s the chance of rain. OK, the radar says 50% chance of rain. Of course, you must want my own personal forecast. It’s going to rain, right on your parade. Now, instead of going up there and getting rained out, why don’t you stick around and help me out? I had about two hours sleep last night with the baby teething and I’m exhausted,” I said. I made no attempt to hide my contempt for him.

“Mmmmm, I’m going to take my chances at the track. Besides I promised I’ll take daughter tomorrow night. I’ll talk to you later! Get some sleep.” And off the little twit went to drive his little cart at a high rate of speed. For his sake, he better pray that he never wrecks.

With his fate in my hands, I likely wouldn’t be able to resist the urge to pull that plug.