Winter: The Drunk Friend Who Won’t Leave The Party


*For anyone not enduring the winter we’ve had in the Midwest, kindly kiss our collective Midwestern ass.

Dear Winter,

You’re just like that drunk asshole who doesn’t realize when it’s time to cut your losses and leave the party. We were officially done with you as of March 20, but here you are, still trying to rear your ugly head back into our lives (at least, according to Jim Cantore you are). Listen, I don’t want to sound rude or anything, but get the fuck out. We don’t love you anymore. In fact, we’ve known this for some time now. Pretty much after New Year’s Eve, we started thinking of ways to get rid of you. However, January seemed too soon to ask such a big request–but now, it’s the last week of March and you’re still trying to hang around. Stop it.

We’ve moved on to spring. I don’t know what you said or did to make spring not show up every day, but knock it off. It’s her time now. Your time is done. Sure, one day we can get back together (I’m thinking December 2014). But for now, it’s time to leave us alone. Don’t call. Don’t write. Don’t text. And certainly do not, under any circumstances, just show up. You are a plague on us all, and we’re sick of you.

Snow stops being cool after the new year, and the first day of spring was last week. What did you do? You shat powder all over us Friday morning. I don’t think I have to tell you that day drinking is significantly less fun when it’s 30 degrees outside and there are still three 10 foot piles of snow refusing to melt in my apartment complex’s parking lot. You try to keep the days shorter. My seasonal affective disorder was manageable for a few months, but I’m teetering on the ledge of insanity as I type this. Early sunsets are fine around Christmas. I like the lights. However, when the calendar shifts to late March, the sun should shine every day. I’m cool with a little cloud cover every now and then as long as it brings a relaxing, late afternoon shower with it–those accompany my post-work naps perfectly. Just give it up already. We are all in desperate need of a tan. My skin has the same complexion of a piece of printer paper. How do you expect me to go out in public like this? Stop being selfish and just go away. Go bother the southern hemisphere for a few months.

I could touch on many more reasons, but honestly, I’m so consumed with my anger toward you that I can’t bare to continue this conversation. Do us all a favor and just leave peacefully before we have to take this outside. Actually, I don’t want to go outside. Just leave.


Everyone above the Mason-Dixon Line

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Mike lives in Chicago and has spent the better part of his life ragging on all things that annoy him. He will become a true Post-Grad next summer when he gets married to his other Post-Grad half who shares his hatred of all things stupid. Anyone with no interest in the media industry, craft beers, strong bourbons, and the ultimate joy of the golf course should seek other articles.

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