At the writing of this missive, it is 5pm on Sunday and the sun has made its first appearance of the entire weekend. To say I’m displeased with this would be akin to saying Oprah has a few bucks squirreled away so she’ll be ok when she quits her day job.
Look, Weather, I know that you’re no one’s bitch but your methods of reminding us of that fact this spring have been pissy, to say the least. March didn’t even pretend to be a transitional month the way it usually does. It stayed cold practically every day and may have actually been wetter than usual. I’ve lived in the DC area for a lot of years, and I don’t think I’ve ever heard as many predictions of snow in March as I have this go round. And it’s not even like it’s a late-season blizzard that sends everyone scurrying inside to hunker down for one last blast of winter. No, this is just snotty little gusts of snow blowing in our faces to show us that you can do it. You know what? We already knew you could snow. The 55 inches you dumped on us in 2010 were ample evidence and we don’t think you’ve lost your mojo so can it with the flakes, ok?
If you’d kindly look at your calendar, you’d notice that it’s now April. Mid-April, actually. And the temperature just keeps hovering around the 40 degree mark. My winter coat is sill hanging by the door and my dry cleaner is probably living on Ramen because the usual spring influx of outerwear is halted due to your bitchy, anti-small business practice of making sure we’re all cold.
And damp. Did I mention the damp? It’s been wet for weeks and not in the hot, porno way. In the clammy basement way. Walking across my yard requires hip-waders at this point because the ground is so softened. My son’s shoes get thoroughly caked with mud every time we dash through the drizzle to get from the car to the house and I discovered a crack in the sole of my favorite clogs thanks to the inches of standing water in a parking lot. Yeah, yeah, yeah, April showers and May flowers and all that jazz but check out my garden. The flowers? Are in bloom. The showers are gratuitous and are actually making it seem as if the daffodils are mocking me.
And do we even need to talk about the level of antipathy I now have for my winter clothes? I’m sick to death of the sight of my sweaters and sensible work slacks. I’m ready to break out the razor and the sundresses and show my legs to the world. Hell, I’ll even use some of the lotion with self-tanner built in to dull the glare of the sun off my pasty skin. But Weather, your end of the bargain is that you have to let the sun come out.
Listen, Weather, I don’t think I’m asking for too much here. A little light, a little warmth. That’s what you usually deliver right about now so what’s the hold up this year? I just want to get outside with my kid, breathe some fresh air, and shed a few layers of fabric. If you step up and do your part, we can be good friends.