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Springtime Is the Worst

Tuesday, April 23, 2019

I know this won’t be a popular sentiment, but I think it needs to be said, just to get it off my chest. So here goes:

Springtime? Is the worst.

Oh, sure, I get what other people like about it—all those pretty flowers blooming and the trees bursting back into life. Hell, the green grass alone, set off against the bright blue sky, is enough to make an artist swoon.

But, as with most things in life, we’re only looking at the superficial when we all lose our minds over the arrival of spring.

Peel that onion just a bit and you’ll find the truth—and it’s nowhere near as lovely as those flowers popping up in your yard.

Let’s be honest: Spring combines the worst aspects of winter and summer, and then adds a few crappy elements of its own.

For starters, you’ve got frigid mornings where you still need your heaviest coat, but by afternoon, you’re sweltering (or, at least, you find yourself envying people who live in geographic locations that lack real seasons).

I mean, seriously. What ARE you supposed to wear in the spring? (And if you say “layers,” prepare for a punch in the throat—that, my friend, is the ultimate copout answer!)

So, weather-wise, you’re suffering the extremes of both hot AND cold—always delightful, especially within the same 24-hour span of time.

Throw in the rain (and the meteorologists’ complete inability to predict it with any degree of accuracy) and you’ve got the makings of a few undeniably miserable months.

But in the words of the old infomercials: Wait . . . there’s more!

Don’t forget (drumroll, please): allergies!

For those people (like me) lucky enough to have outgrown childhood pollen allergies only to have them reemerge in our 40s with, like, quadruple the power, spring kind of feels like three months of having someone beat you over the head with a mallet while your nose runs faster than your tissue supply can keep up. I swear, I’m spending half my disposable income on Kleenex—no to mention allergy meds (which, by the way, are getting their BUTTS kicked!).

So, don’t come up to me, all sing-songy and cheerful, going on and on about how glad you are that winter is finally over and spring has sprung. Do so at your own risk. I may have no choice but to smite you with one of my many empty Benadryl bottles. And you, dear reader, will deserve it. 😊
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