17? Really?!

Spring began this past Friday - or so the calendar claims. I flew out of JFK to Virginia in snow flurries that day. Although the temperature in Virginia Beach probably didn't top 40, we were determined to properly ring in spring by going out that night in tank tops. It's a wardrobe skill I acquired in New York - it doesn't matter how unseasonal your outfit is ... as long as you're wearing a pashmina or scarf.

A few weeks ago we had our first tease of spring. It was a warm, hazy blue skied Sunday and spring fever was in full effect. The boardwalk in front of my apartment was chock full of walkers, joggers, bicyclists, dogs and strollers - everyone eager to put away their winter jackets in favor of short sleeves. Days like that put a smile on your face. Days like that remind you that winter doesn't last forever; you will get off the treadmill and your sneakers will touch real pavement again. You become determined to forgo the winter clothes in your closet, ignoring turtleneck sweaters and woolen pants.

Spring is here, you think triumphantly!

And then Mother Nature smacks you back down, because deep down, she truly is one sadistic bitch. Just over one week until April and the wind chill was 17 this morning. Seven-friggin-teen.

Easter is just a few weeks away - no one wants to wear winter clothes on Easter morning. Kickball starts the next day; I hate trying to play kickball in ten layers of clothes. Opening day at the new Yankees and Mets stadiums is just over a week away. I cannot fathom sitting in a stadium on a day like today. I think I see why baseball just doesn't cut it in Canada.

Let's make a deal, Mother Nature. I'll stop whining when it rains during my morning commute. I won't even complain if we can get the wind chill above 30.

Really, my standards for weather are getting lower by the day.