How is it that the shortest month feels like the longest month? It can’t be just the weather, can it? We’ve had some cold spells over this winter so far, and more snow earlier than usual, but as a whole, it’s been a very typical winter around here, yet from here, March 1 looks like a very distant mountain peak. Our family jokes about February being the worst month, with NOTHING good about it; this is because it’s the birth month of Kid Number 1 (22 this year? No way. Way.) Now that the Super Bowl is firmly ensconced in February (yes, children, it used to occur in January, back in civilized times), I suppose there is that to look forward to, but my enthusiasm for the NFL in general continues to wane, and lately the Super Bowl has not raised my interest much. Add to that Tom frickin’ Brady, and I don’t even want to hunt for the remote control, ya know? And don’t think that I’m overlooking the general shafting Black History Month gets by being relegated to the shortest, coldest month. Valentine’s Day, you say? Yeah, VD, Hallmark, and the chocolate and floral industries can kiss right off. Heck, this February is so weak, it doesn’t even get its own full moon.
I’ll say this for February, however: At least it’s not a big, fat liar like March. We’ll discuss March’s inadequacies another time, I promise.