Last week was kind of like a giant hangover. Probably because I was hungover. All week. First of all, it took me about three days to recover from last Saturday night. The mere thought of booze of any kind made my head swim and the back of my throat water. Clearly, my new found commitment to dirty martinis is not treating me as well as I had expected.
By the time Wednesday rolled around, I was just beginning to feel truly human again when everyone was all BLAH! Saint Paddy's Day! DRINK! So, obviously, I did. Then viola! By the time I emerged from the cloud it was the weekend again! But this time my closest friends from New Zealand came to visit Boston and here it is Tuesday and I'm finally able to speak somewhat coherently again.
The reason I have hangovers on the mind (besides the obvious reason), is because of a little something I heard Garrison Keillor say recently. On my ride to Philly a few weeks ago, I was listening to a Prairie Home Companion when Gar-gar described March as "Mother Nature's hangover." And was he right or am I still drunk?!
The winter rages for months and by the time March gets here, we all expect the sun to come out and the wind to stop and the flowers to bloom because hellooo, it's March, right? But it never works that way. In fact, it's usually nasty for another couple of months and we are ALWAYS surprised about it because in our picturesque 12-month calendars March is the month of green fields sunshine and yellow flowers! WHERE ARE OUR GREEN FIELDS AND SUNSHINE AND YELLOW FLOWERS?
Kind of like how we spend a night raging in the city sucking down vodka drinks and then are still totally surprised to wake up the next morning with cotton mouth and a splitting headache. Now, I tend not to get my panties in a twist over March because it always sucks. Except for this time last year when I was squirming around and kind of loosing my mind waiting for summer and talking about my vagina an awful lot, upon reflection. So this year, I vowed to just take March as it is (winter's horrible hangover) and patiently bide my time for sunny beach days and limes in my beer. And I aaallllmost made it. Until this weekend.
Every day last week was more beautiful than the day before, and by the time Saturday came around (the first day of spring, mind you), it was 70 degrees and nothing but sun and I. was. in. heaven. And then Monday got here and it's been cold and pouring ever since. HANGOVER.
I told myself not to get used to it. I reminded myself constantly as I sat in the sun in shorts and a tank top, reading my New Yorker, that it wouldn't last. That drinking beers in the Boston sunshine was a fluke. That I still had a good month and a half before dartying (day + party = darty) would become a regular occurrence again because good GAH there's nothing I love like a good darty. This is New England for cheese's sake. There was no way I was getting out of March that easy. Of course not.
So now I'm ready to just skip on past spring entirely and whip out those flip flops and tube tops so let's go, Mama Nature! Stock up on your B12 and let's darty!