I have a confession

I have a crush on the channel 23 weatherman. I recall that fateful day years ago when I awoke one morning, wanting to see what the weather for the weekend would be, and there he was. Stumbling and stammering his way through the weather report, tossing in little anecdotes in a clumsy but downright adorable way, seemingly at ease with his quirky nature, my kind of guy. He moved his hands in a funny way, had a sweet smile and a natural way about him. I was hooked. I found myself from then on tuning into channel 23 often, in the hopes of seeing my new little friend.

The years passed and he became less awkward, but still losing none of his innocent charm. He still had a bumbling presence, a clear passion for the weather, cute little stories and sadly a wedding ring. But even that does not dim the charm I find in my weather man. Neither his growing maturity nor his tiny weight gain that I immediately noticed and chalked up to an unhealthy diet that was likely all his wife’s fault. No, my weather man is an innocent, and some day he will know of my love.

Together we will travel the world, chasing storms and strange weather patterns, talking to tribal elders about the spiritual aspects of the eye of the storms, and maybe even doing peyote in the caves of Mexico, finding our inner animal. I get it, I am the flower, and she is the butterfly.

But then another day passes and my weather man stays the same. Unchanging, the one constant in my life, untouchable. I wish I knew my weather mans name. I am glad I don’t. I could find out if I wanted to, I need only Google the details of said station and the employees, surely he is the head weather man now. He deserves it, my darling weather man. I don’t need to know his name. He is weather man.

I have a confession to make; I have a crush on the channel 23 weatherman.