If you want to witness a masterclass in regional hysteria, just wait for a local meteorologist to mention the word 'flurries' in the Ohio Valley. Suddenly, the entire city of Cincinnati collectively decides that civilization is collapsing and the only logical response is to hoard every gallon of milk and loaf of bread within a fifty-mile radius. It is almost charming how quickly the region descends into chaos the moment the sky turns a shade of grey that isn't their preferred brand of sunshine.

While the rest of the world checks the sky, Cincinnatians check their weather apps with the intensity of a day trader watching a stock market crash. - The immediate closure of universities and non-essential businesses at the first sight of a snowflake. - The sudden appearance of debris-laden runways at the airport that somehow managed to surprise everyone.

- The frantic scramble for salt and shovels that usually occurs about three hours after the storm has already peaked. Historically, the Midwest has never been shy about its dramatic relationship with the atmosphere, but Cincinnati takes the cake for theatrical endurance. You would think that after decades of dealing with the erratic whims of the Ohio River valley's climate, the locals would have developed a thick skin.

Instead, every minor pressure front is treated like a biblical plague requiring a total shutdown of the local economy. Perhaps it is the unpredictability that keeps the locals so on edge, or maybe they just enjoy the excuse to cancel their Monday morning meetings. Regardless, watching a city grind to a halt because of a light frost is the most consistent form of entertainment in the region.

If you find the local weather forecasts anxiety-inducing, just wait until you see how they handle a light breeze that knocks over a single patio chair. Is there any other city that treats a standard winter Tuesday like a mandatory evacuation drill?