Morning stroll

Ahh, the first day of spring. Not technically, I guess, but who cares about technicalities. To me, the first real day of spring is the first day you walk outside and it’s not sleet-rain-hailing upwards, which happens more often than not in New England. You know it’s really spring when you finally make the leap from smelly depressing wool winter coat to light springy jacket. You pull your jacket on, walk out your front door, and the little robins are hopping about. Daffodils are singing, dogs are barking, little babies are being wheeled around in their strollers, slobbering goo in all their cuteness. Even the people with the weird-ass lawn ornaments and fake tulips stuck in the ground seem less harmless…

You see that and, instead of cowering in fear, it causes you to just chortle to yourself, “Oh ha ha, crazy jackal tulip lady. Happy spring!”

Everyone about has a little skip to their step. All the women on the way to work are wearing bright printed skirts and the men are sans suit jackets. You feel jolly. You feel great. The thought of getting on the T doesn’t even make you want to vomit. So you descend the stairs into the depths of the train station, waving at the Metro man as you happily take your paper. And as you approach the gates to the T, it hits you like a wrecking ball full of shrapnel that in the right pocket of your smelly heavy wool winter coat is your wallet. And in your wallet is your T pass. And in your closet in your house is your smelly heavy wool winter coat with your wallet and your T pass. And before your very eyes the tulips wilt. The robins fly directly into tree trunks. And the jackalope lawn ornaments explode. And you wish a horrible wintry death on all things pastel as the sweat drips down your back on your trek back to your apartment.

Happy spring, all. Happy flippin spring.