I don’t get spring. I mean, I get it, I just don’t get why everyone’s all 100%, “it’s so wonderful it’s spring!” (Although, the idea of Allison twirling around like an idiot in her driveway has its appeal.)
Think about it. What is spring? It’s pollen clouds, loud birds, tree crap all over everything, yard work, wedding season. What it is not, is predictable, and I like to know what I should wear in the morning. You wake up and toss on your parka because it’s 40 degrees and by lunch the sidewalks are filled with high school kids shivering in their beach wear. (Note to high school kids: temperature isn’t relative. When it’s 65 in July you wear a sweatshirt. When it’s 65 in April you wear a bathing suit and are cold. I’m not following.)
Plus, there’s always that one guy in the neighborhood who forgot it’s spring and lets his grass hit three feet before it dawns on him we’re back in mowing season.
Spring is when you discover your grill became a mouse condo over the winter, your new mountain bike still needs to be adjusted, you’re a whole lot fatter than you were when you packed away the shorts, and you have to sit through countless sub-par attempts by your brother’s kids trying to catch, throw and kick things.
And by the way, no one wants to turn on their air conditioning or heat in the spring. So you either freeze or sweat wherever you go.
Cat update: I took some flak for my rant against cats. Nice try, but I stand buy it. I still think any living creature that spends more time trying to eat a feather than doing basically anything else on this planet is not smart. I don’t care what kind of “evolutionary rationalization” you throw at me. It’s dumb. Don’t eat feathers.