It’s starting to feel like spring around the Twin Cities. For the past 4 or 5 days, the weather has been warmer, we got our first rainfall of the year, and people are excited.
And tomorrow, the forecast calls for a light snowstorm.
This happens in Minnesota every year. Spring teases us like an 8th grade girl stealing a boy’s hat. Spring is coy and elusive, and we get fooled every time. All it takes is one relatively warm day and suddenly everybody is wearing shorts and pastel shirts and going for walks. People hear one bird chip and tank tops and baseball gloves are again in play. People become drunk with springtime vitality and love is in the air.
Then God dumps 4 inches of snow on us in early April and laughs hysterically.
It’s as if we’re Charlie Brown, and he is Lucy holding the football for us. Every spring, we’re convinced that this time she’ll keep the ball there for us to kick, and every time she pulls it away and we land flat on our backs. The snow falls, and as we’re scraping the ice off our windshield on April 6th we let out a collective “AAARRRRGH!!” The day of the final snowstorm of the year is always among the most depressing days of the year for many people. I’m convinced that God must enjoy himself watching this annual event, wondering if he’ll be able to pull it off yet again and always being amazed at how easy it is.
That’s why I won’t be taking my parka off until at least May 15th this year. I’m not going to let him fool me again. My long underwear will continue to be utilized until we pass the 90-degree mark. I will wear mittens until the passing of the summer solstice. I imbibe hot chocolate thrice daily through August. I refuse to allow myself to look like an idiot again. This new plan of mine will most certainly help me avoid looking foolish.
Take that, Lucy (you biatch).