Predictions call for a dusting...

It was crisp & dry this morning when I left for my yoga-for-wimps class.  We went through our poses, had a good laugh (she does laughing yoga sometimes, it's great!) and towards the end I noticed a plow pass by the building.  Excuse me?  I could barely see across the street through the swirling tornadoes of windblown white stuff.  Predictions called for a 'dusting', nothing to worry about.  Yes, I know, don't blame the weather guy or gal, weather is unpredictable.  Then how come they call them predictions?  Oh well, no boots, gym shoes soggy/cold by the time I got to the car; no hat or scarf so the rest of me was getting soggy/cold too.  It was practically whiteout and I swear I could hear little hysterical giggles coming from each flake...perhaps that's why they're called flakes.  There was an errand I had to run before going home so I got to play in the traffic with so many gentle souls (aka idiots) who always manage to forget how to drive in the snow if it's been more than a week since the last fall.  Took care of business, managed NOT to meet any of those souls, and returned home....cold, wet, and in one piece.  That one piece then had to shovel stairs & sidewalk.  Did I mention that I don't particularly care for winter?  Oh, did I?  Nevermind then.