I hate winter.

I don’t hate it because of the snow and ice and sleet and cold.  I hate it because it means another three months of having bossy radio and TV personalities bombard me with unneeded motherly advice.  Not since the days when my own mother awoke me for school every day with the words “don’t forget to wear your rubbers” have I been bugged so persistently in the morning.

The carping usually begins a little after sunup when I flip on the radio in the kitchen and hear an announcer say, “Stay tuned for the 6 a.m. weather update.”   The station quickly cuts to a commercial for a local travel agency that’s offering a 6-day-5-night getaway for just $800 per person and then it’s time for the station’s weather reporter, who sounds much more cheerful than he should at that time of the morning, to order me to carry my umbrella to work that day.

Well-meaning broadcasters do the same things to me at other times of the year, but their maternal instincts don’t seem to kick into high gear until the weather starts turning lousy.
“Don’t forget to leave yourself a little extra time to get to work this morning,” says a morning-show host as I sit twiddling my thumbs in a traffic jam two blocks from my house. “Better get out the ol’ scraper this morning,” I’m advised by another weather reporter as I gaze bleary-eyed at the 6-inch coating of ice covering my windshield.

Some days the nagging is nonstop.

“Slow down.”

“Bundle up.”

“Watch for patches of dense fog.”

“Avoid the westbound lanes of the interstate.”

“Be on the lookout for slick spots on area roadways this morning.”

“Keep right.”

“Keep left.”

“Cow in the road on County Road 33. “

“Leave for work early.”

“Take your time getting to the office.”

“Turn on those headlights.”

“Expect long delays because the orange barrels are out on U.S. 35.”

 I don’t know who died and left broadcasters in charge of getting people like me and you to and from work every day, but I wish they’d stop.  If they don’t, maybe all of the stations could change their call letters to WNAG. Or, better yet, WMOM.