Come On Texas

Texas weather is at it again, folks. One day, we’re sweating bullets under a blazing sun; the next, we’re dodging raindrops like we’re in some kind of twisted obstacle course. It’s like the weather gods here wake up each morning and spin a giant wheel of chaos just to keep us on our toes. I’m out here in Fort Worth today, minding my business under a sunny sky, and thinking, “Well, this is nice.” But as you’d expect, that didn’t last. The sun decided it had done its good deed for the day and handed the stage over to gloom and doom.

Just as I was getting used to the cloudy vibes, here comes the rain. Honestly, I like rain—it’s cozy and makes me feel like I’m living in one of those moody romance novels for a hot second. But Texas can’t even let me enjoy a simple shower. No, suddenly, we’re on tornado watch. Because nothing says, “Just another day in Fort Worth,” like the chance your house might end up in Oklahoma by midnight. So, I’m sitting here with my coffee, feeling like I’m in a twisted game of musical chairs where the music is controlled by Mother Nature on a very questionable caffeine high.

Let’s talk about how it doesn’t stop at one shift, either. No, Texas weather switches up more than an indecisive toddler picking out a Halloween costume. One minute we’re back to sunny skies, and the next, we’re huddled inside like a storm’s about to end us all. Oh, but wait—it clears up again. “Look, Texas,” I say, as if the weather can hear me, “You’ve got to pick a side. Are we doing apocalyptic storms or summer sun here?” But Texas is basically like, “Hold my beer and watch this,” and then throws in another round of rain for good measure. You’d think after 7 years of living here, I’d know better than to trust that first patch of sunshine.

The worst part of all of this is the “whip flash.” Not to be dramatic, but the constant swings are starting to feel like an attack on my sanity. My poor skin doesn’t know whether it needs SPF 50 or a good moisturizer. My closet is basically a disaster because trying to plan an outfit is like trying to predict the stock market. One moment I’m throwing on shorts, but by afternoon, I need rain boots and a parka.

So here’s to Texas weather—our own personal meteorological circus, where we’re all unwilling participants in its unpredictable, chaotic performance. Like it or not, we’ll keep showing up every day, wondering what absurd surprise is coming next.