It’s not nice to mess with Mother Nature. Really, it’s not.

This is simply not my week. Finding out I can’t cook is appalling. My luncheon with the big-boned Immortal socialites went to Hell in a handbasket. I’ve been hoping to join the Fearsome Five and make it the Psycho Six. However, the chances of that happening now are looking slim. Of course, I could force my way in since I’m Mother freakin’ Nature, but I want to be accepted for being me - and because I’m fabulous.

It’s bad enough my two sons, God and Satan, are driving me to crazy town while my best friend, Mr. Rogers, is riding in the backseat having a breakdown. It’s definitely not a beautiful day in the neighborhood of Purgatory....

God has taken up softball and is impossible to get ahold of just when I need to chat with him about the impending end of the world.

And Satan. Satan has agreed to grocery shop with me so I don’t show up at his next poker game in Hell and pole dance. See, I’m certain if I find the famous chef Betsy Cocker and learn to cook I can halt the end times. According to the internet, she resides in aisle three.

What I really want is to be left alone with Bill - the love of my Immortal life. And for the world to not come to a cataclysmic and fiery end because that is unacceptable. God tells me the end times aren’t on his schedule, but the strange days afoot and the physical changes in Bill tell me otherwise.

And I would know. Normally, I create all the strange days.

There is no storm strong enough to defeat me. Ladies and gentlemen, I’m Mother Nature. I am the mother humpin’ storm.

And it’s not over until I say it’s over.