Lee Pitts: Dear John
My sweet, old-fashioned weather man, why did you have to leave me? It hasn’t rained since you went off the air. My reservoir is so empty without you. I have tried to find another but it seems like all 100 of my TV channels are showing Duck Dynasty, Wife Swap, and Dance Moms. And the weather channel doesn’t even know I exist.
I beg you, my dear, reliable, small town weather man, wherever you are, come back home. I have a feeling you’re in some tiny TV market in Colorado or South Dakota judging by all the rain they got. They don’t need you any more John but I do. Since you left me I have nightmares about hay prices. Dear John please come home, you belong back here with people of your own kind. People who love you for being your own wet, dependable self.
I take back all those mean things I used to say about you. I’m so miserable without you it’s almost like you never left. I know I told the network that you were boring, and that you couldn’t even start a conversation if it wasn’t for the weather. I know I said that you were windy, with gusts up to 90 miles an hour, and that you weren’t the prettiest thing to look at either. But when you said it would rain, it did. Oh sure, you occasionally gave us cyclones, blizzards and hail the size of softballs, but at least it was wet.
I’ll admit now that I was a fair-weather friend. You have to understand that when they replaced you with that blonde Hollywood bombshell meteorologist it was love at first sight. She was the girl of my dreams. John, when her high pressure troughs entered my life, I will admit that I was unfaithful. But I want you to know that I’d give her up for you in a heartbeat because she lies to me John. She promises me low pressure but it’s all a front. She may be entertaining and easy on the eyes but the weather around here doesn’t agree with her. The beautiful humid blonde promises me slightly cloudy with drifts up to three feet, and all I get is hot and bothered.
She just doesn’t understand me like you did John. She exposes herself on camera in bikinis and miniskirts to report on the beautiful weather and hopes we “have great weather for the weekend.” You never did that John. Sure, when she wore a low cut dress I forgave her inaccuracies, but you always understood and knew that the only great weather for the weekend was rain. You weren’t good to look at, but at least with you it was one damp thing after another. She can talk all about the weather but you actually did something about it.
Oh, John I know you are within the sound of my voice. I know you are still in the country because you are way too ugly to get a passport picture. I know that wherever you are, it is raining cats and dogs. John, come back to me. You can even bring your mother nature with you. She can stay with us.
John, we just had a little lover’s quarrel, that’s all. Just like the barn roof when it used to rain around these parts, it’s nothing we can’t patch up. I promise I’ll never look at another gorgeous weather babe again. Words cannot express how much I regret my transgressions. I miss you dearly. Won’t you please come back to me and bring some rain with you? Your absence leaves a space in my water gauge no one else can fill. I’m out of stock water, haven’t had a bath for weeks, and the garden is wilting; just like my broken heart. Please forgive me John and I beg you… let’s start all over again and pick up where we left off, with monsoons and gully washers. I need you too much in my life to let some fast talking, gorgeous weather hottie come between us.
Yours forever in moisture and cloudbursts,
Down and Dirty in Delano
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