Dear April in Chicago,
We’ve just endured the three harshest months of the year, and what do you know, you’ve finally fucking arrived.
But as it turns out, you’re just as bad as those last three. In fact, you may even be worse because technically you don’t even fucking belong. You’re supposed to be warm – SPRING, SOME MIGHT FUCKING SAY – but instead you keep bringing us the chilly fucking temperatures and cloudy fucking skies that absolutely nobody asked for.
We put in our TIME, April. Remember that fucking week in January where it was in the negatives every day? When my face got fucking frostbite just looking at the forecast?
That was the winter I learned it can be too cold to even fucking snow. Snow is the fucking epitome of “it’s cold.” EVEN THE SNOW DIDN’T WANT TO FUCKING BE HERE.
SERIOUSLY HAVEN’T WE SUFFERED E-FUCKING-NOUGH? Weren’t those months slipping on fucking sidewalks and eating vitamin D pills like fucking popcorn enough for you?
We got absolutely fucking MOCKED in March when the first day of fucking spring rolled around and the weather acted like it hadn’t HEARD of a different fucking season.
But we all thought SURELY April will get the memo that spring is fucking here. Surely April will know that it’s fucking time to let the sun shine and let the temperatures rise and let the residents go outside without a fucking down coat.
But NO, April in Chicago, you seem to think you’re “winter’s extended fucking lease” with a warrant to keep bringing the fucking clouds and the fucking cold and the fucking snow. It can be too COLD in Chicago to snow but turns out it can never be too APRIL in Chicago to snow.
You know what the worst part is, April in Chicago? The worst fucking part? I WILL FUCKING FORGET ABOUT YOUR FUCKING MISERY BY THE TIME SUMMER FINALLY FUCKING COMES.
Summertime in Chicago is like that fucking laser thing on Men in Black or that shot called the fucking “mind eraser” in that it immediately makes you forget: aliens / that bar you’re at / how much you swore this would be your last fucking year in Chicago because you can’t fucking stand how winter has suddenly become three fucking seasons out of the year.
And all of a sudden it’s fucking warm and there are fucking patios and you’re the happiest you’ve ever been in your entire fucking life because Summertime in Chicago is like no other experience you’ve ever fucking had.
That’s who I really should have written this fucking letter to.
Wait – this was fucking supposed to be a LOVE letter, wasn’t it?
Fuck.
– Rachel
Leggy Blonde 