Dear Atlantic provinces,
Let me just start off this letter by reaffirming that I still love you. You could probably hurl a tornado at me, and after that a hurricane, and possibly a typhoon, and I would still love you. But I have a small bone to pick with you.
When I said yesterday, standing underneath a sunny, blue sky on a balmy spring day that "It's probably going to ice storm tomorrow," I was kidding. You weren't actually supposed to listen to me.
Either you have no sense of humour, or you have a profound sense of irony. I'm not sure which.