When he says "high pressure," I touch myself
Weatherstud Cantore before discovering the Gillette M3Power vibrating razor
Don't pretend you don't know who I'm talking about. Man, woman and child, all are aware of weather-he-man Cantore. We've seen him out reporting live near the eye of the hurricane, lashed to a pole while rain and wind whip his rugged, italian features. We've seen him during Safe Home Preparation segments, brown skin shinin' in the sun, black t-shirt clad, showing us the proper way to weatherproof our windows. We've watched him grow with the Weather Channel, going from being just one of a few meteoroligical macho men, to anchoring the channel's flagship show, "Storm Stories" (a full hour about Hurricane Alice?!? I am so there). And as he's advanced, his hairline has taken the opposite route.
But no longer. Samson has shorn his locks and is only stronger for it. Hollah if you hear me.
I imagine weathermuffin Jim Cantore and I awakening on Sunday morning...Jim rolls out of bed, opens our bedroom curtains and immediately checks the barometer mounted outside our window. "Ooo!" he shouts excitedly, "high pressure! That means clear skies today. During the warmer half of the year, subtropical high-pressure systems sometimes expand poleward to have a calming influence on the weather in the temperate latitudes." I've heard it a million times by this point, but I still tremble each time.
Jim hits the shower first. I put my contact lenses in, singing "our" song I wrote to the tune of "That's Amoré":
When there's snow in the sky
Who says it's safe to fly?
When the sun seems to shine
Who tells you it's "just fine?"
Hailstorms sting ting-a-ling-a-ling, ting-a-ling-a-ling
And you'll shout "Mutha fucka"
Gulf storms rage tippi-tippi-tay, tippi-tippi-tay
Like a gay tarantula
I join my 90% chance of sunshine in the shower and we share our single can of Edge Gel for Sensitive Skin as we shave our heads in tandem. After the shower, he lovingly explains for the hundredth time how advection fog results in our mirrors being steamy. I grab him around his air mass and golf-ball sized hail and send him off to work with a gully washer, a sudden downpour that often results in a flash flood.
I then run out of weather-related puns and the fantasy fades.
So yeah, shaving the head...good move, Jim.