What happens when you call someone on their bluff?

They respond.

For the last fourteen years I have lived in Knoxville, TN. Almost every winter there is a "snow storm". When this time of year rolls around, the weather man informs everyone that snow is coming and to stock up on food and stay indoors. Naturally...everyone panics. Grocery stores are suddenly running low on milk and bread, and Mayo has a line out the door with people buying sleds. The truth is, this snow storm usually only brings about 2-4 inches of snow. Yes, 2-4 inches.

As I planned to head home for the weekend this past Thursday, I payed zero attention to the fact that Knoxville was preparing for yet another snow storm. I packed up the galant and was ready to say goodbye Charleston and hello Tennessee! Because after fifteen years of supposed snow storms, why believe anyone now? Well, maybe I should have.

Despite family and friends saying I should consider not venturing to Tennessee, I was on my way Friday afternoon. Little did I know that a mere four hours into the trip I would be going 35 mph on the interstate and eventually parked and watching a snowball fight. That's right, I didn't make it Tennessee on Friday. Little white flakes poured down a record breaking snow of 11 inches in Asheville, NC and that's as far as I made it.

Fortunately, the roads had been cleared by Saturday morning and I could continue on my stubborn way. But as far as calling the weatherman's bluff...he was holding a Royal Flush.