A few months ago, I wrote about the dead possum that died under our house the day before Thanksgiving, its mephitic miasma threatening the holiday meal. Until a local pest control company saved the day by locating and removing the noisome decedent, I had assumed it was a dead rat in the wall.
Virginia replied: Omg! At least it’s not a decaying human corpse!
I responded: At least it’s not the decaying human corpse of the person who was supposed to bring the candied yams!
We went on pretty much all day getting ever sillier and more ridiculous. But I confess I’ve found myself using “at least” phrases more and more. When we had a blow out at 70 miles per hour on I-5 on Christmas Eve day en route to L.A. for Christmas with the grandkids, I found myself standing by the side of the road chirping: at least it’s not night time and raining!”