Dearest New York City,
Do you like roller coasters? I do. Love ’em, actually. So much so that I’m willing to withstand wait times that are well over an hour just for a thrill that’ll only last for two minutes at best. But you’ve been taking me and the rest of New York for a ride as of late, one that I definitely did not sign up for. Nope, I am not here for this roller coaster weather. Not. One. Bit.
It was all good just a week ago. The high was at around smooth 60 degrees, the sun was beaming, and so too was the smile on my face, because for what seemed like the first time in a while, I could walk out of the house without a scarf and/or gloves. Ahhh. Life was great.
Cut to this past weekend: 70 degrees. Finally, weather worth shaving my legs for. And that I did. It seemed like it was finally time to brush the cobwebs off of my skirts and shorts as Mother Nature was giving me permission to liberate my legs from the oppression of pants. See, at least with 70-degree weather, I could wear jeans by choice, whereas during chillier temperatures, I wouldn’t even dare to show so much as an ankle, because brrrr.
But nothing good lasts forever, and what we thought was the start of open-toe season definitely was not. Like a woman scorned, Mother Nature unleashed her wrath on us all yet again overnight, and I couldn’t help but question: What did we ever do to you? Why are we being punished? Who hurt you, Mother Nature?!
April showers bring May flowers, but snow? That shit is completely uncalled for. The first day of spring was four weeks ago, and apparently, you, New York have missed that memo. Did it get lost in the mail? Did you throw it out in the trash by mistake? Because I’m just not understanding. And, quite frankly, I’m pissed. Confused–just when we all thought it was time to box up our bulky parkas, here you are, trollin’. Not cool, New York. Not cool. (Or very cool–freezing, actually.)
Sure, the weatherman says warmer weather is on the horizon. But what about next week? Or the week after that? You’ve been throwing us for loopty-loops, spiraling so much out of control that I just don’t know what to believe anymore.
Look, New York. I love you, I really do. Your spirit. Your hustle and bustle. The way you sparkle in the nighttime. You’re pretty fucking amazing. But I just have one request in regards to this weather:
Chill the fuck out already. Except not literally. Please. Not anymore.
Sincerely,
A Girl Who Wants Off This Ride
