It's Snowing On Me

Everytime I venture outside today to smoke (which is twice, because it's gawd DAMN jesus fuck cold out there today) it's snowing. So I smoke my cigarette, look at the snow, maybe stomp around a little to keep the feeling in my legs and go back inside, where I helpfully inform my coworkers of the fact that it's snowing.
To wit, I say, "It's snowing."
And they say, "Oh no!" or, possibly, "Really?" and then they go outside to check. That's human nature: straightforward observations on the weather have to be immediately verified. People will believe any kind of lunacy coming from the media, but a person they know and (presumably) like and trust says something about the weather and it can't be true unless they've seen it with their own eyes. If you're wondering why we can't just all look out the window, I work in a bunker. A windowless concrete bunker. If the bombs start going off, I'm staying right here where it's safe, except for the slight problem that there's nothing to eat but those little boxes of antique raisins that all offices are issued with by order of OSHA or something.
Then my coworkers come back inside and eye me suspiciously. "No, it's not." they say.
"Pardon?" I say, having forgotten the snow and all.
"It's not snowing," they say, and they continue to insist on this even after I say, "Yes it is."
So, either they are egregious liars or it's only snowing when I step outside to smoke. Or, maybe it's only snowing on me. That's entirely possible, especially in Asheville.

I like snow. I don't much like being freezing cold all the time, though, and it's a quandary, since it hardly ever snows when it's 70 out. Which would be perfect, by the way, and if you know a place like that, tell me, so I can go there and go sledding in shorts. The other problem with snow and ice and 16 degrees holy shit is that I'm trying to talk M into moving to Asheville. One of the reasons M lives in Charleston is that he actually really doesn't like cold weather. Therefore, I am engaging in a little spin here whereby I keep assuring him that it isn't really that cold in Asheville. This would work a whole hell of a lot better if he then didn't promptly open up Wunderground (see above; M, alas, is not immune to human nature regarding the weather) and it didn't inevitably have a lovely little graphic for Ice Pellets or something else equally appealing right there at the front and center. Ice Pellets. Wintry Mix. Snow Showers. High: 27. Then M just looks at me and I smile feebly and say, "But it's character building! It's bracing! It's good for you!" And, to add insult to injury, the snowballs I lovingly packed up and put in a cooler and took to Charleston so I could playfully toss them and he would see how great snow is (well, either that or we would become characters in a Bill Cosby sketch from the 60s) melted by the time they got there. The snow is just determined not to cooperate with me.