We all hoped for this.
It was the dream that bound people from all layers of the social stratosphere together as we roused each morning.
With tears in our eyes and voices streaked with tremors there was the too-often asked question,
“When will this winter end?”
Which morphed into a mantra, “You survived one of the worst winters” (We might need shirts made for that one).
People swore not to complain about spring’s torrential rains and summer’s sweltering heat if only the snowstorms would stop, the sun would reappear, and snow days would be a thing of the past.
Five retired heavy coats, two hung up fur lined boots, and several misplaced gloves later, spring was ushered in.
Sleeveless blouses and dresses are à la mode and open toed shoes and sandals all display smiley faces.
I hop onto the streets with few clothes on and throw on an occasional jacket for the unpredictable weather channel predicted showers.
Catching public transportation actually becomes enjoyable as intermediate stops transform into leisure strolls and if you haven’t be bitten by the pollen bug might I say, sniffles-free leisure strolls.
Yet, I am cold.
At work, meetings and grocery stores, the air-conditioning turned on full blast sends chilling reminders that the end of winter does not signal the end of being cold.
The same indoor locations that were unbearable warm during the winter have transformed into mini freezers post-winter.
My sleeveless cowl neck blouse, thin-layered skirt and bare legs do no favors for this weather shock and my rain jacket barely compensates.
I refuse to complain for indeed, I survived one of the worst winters.