Nina In New York: March? That Guy's The Worst.

A lighthearted look at news, events, culture and everyday life in New York. The opinions expressed are solely those of the writer.
______________

By Nina Pajak

Oh, hey, March. Coming in a little hot, are we? And by hot, I obviously mean freezing cold and crapping snow everywhere.

For many years, I was fooled by March's glittery promises of sunshine, fresh, warm air, and spring thaw. "It's right around the corner," it purred. "Just above this next crest," it intoned. "Pay no attention to these still-freezing temperatures. That sleet? That's nothing. This ice storm? Oh, pshaw. I'm March! I go out like a lamb! A beautiful, sweet-smelling, delicious spring lamb. Come to me. Love me. Eat my hope. It it up like ice cream! Oh my god, how badly do you want ice cream? It can all be yours. So, so soon. I swear. Patience, my pets. So soon. I just need to work out a few things on my end, and rearrange a few meetings on my calendar but I'm waiting to hear from Steve on his availability with is dependent on Phil's vacation plans and he needs to check with his wife, and then the temperatures will crack the thirties. Oh, it's possible I need to go to Phoenix for a few days in a week, but then for sure I'm here for ya, kid. You can count on me, I'm your—oh, I'm blowin' up. July, is that you? How are you, hot stuff? Oh, nothing, just toying with the losers again. Come over later, girl, me and Feb are having a party. Oh, hey bro, you still here? Hey listen it seems like my stuff took longer than I thought and it's basically April now sooooo. Yeah."

But now we know. March isn't a ray of hope. It's that d-bag who apologizes profusely when he hits your car and then gives you phony insurance information. It's that guy who swears he'll be ready to commit this time and then hits on your sister at your cousin's wedding. It's that girl from high school who seemed like she'd gotten nicer from her Facebook profile, but then you run into her and she's just a mature a-hole now. We've fallen for March's cheap lines before, but we won't this time. We shun you, March. We know your game. We expect nothing of you, even when you spit out random fifty degree days just to mess with our heads. We boycott you.

Wake me when it's April.

Nina Pajak is a writer living with her husband, daughter and dog in Queens. Connect with Nina on Twitter!