I debated a long time how to begin this letter to you. At first, I just started, “Dear Spring- Fuck you.” But really, if I started like that, how could I possibly tell you in detail all the reasons I hate you? For starters, maybe once in awhile you could actually show up. It’s April. Did you know that? Maybe you could deign to stop by and bring some of your temperatures above 40 degrees. Or maybe you’re too busy hanging out someplace awful like San Diego, where you know they don’t even need you, and sure as hell don’t appreciate you.
But no, I guess you’d rather dick around while all of us poor souls have to trudge through yet another day of cloudy, rainy bullshit. Maybe you think it’s hilarious that I am still wearing a hat with earflaps and mittens to just try to stay warm. Maybe you just think it’s great that my nose is always running and my face is windburned and red and I look like crap every single day. Maybe you just hate for people to spend a nice day at the park, with pretty flowers and colors besides gray and human beings you can actually see, instead of just puffy jackets and earmuffs. Or maybe you just want us all to be miserable all the time.
I guess we’ll just have another year where we go from cold and crappy to hot and disgusting with no pleasant weather in between. I hate you. I hope the people in whatever crappy place you decide to visit this year say lots of nasty things about your mother.
You are a scumbag,
Spring Responds to Thad: