When I think of spring, I think of snow. No, seriously.
Here in Chicago, we don't really have a proper "spring." It's more like, "Here's a couple of random warm days to tease you before I wallop you with one last snowfall. I will stick around until approximately mid-June, making you freeze your Windy-City-butts off, until I quickly usher in summer and 90 degree temps." (Can you tell it's wretched here today?)
As if it wasn't obvious before, Chicagoans love to complain about the weather. And, really, we're allowed. We get it all--from twelve inches of snow (but no school/work cancellations) to 100% humidity (usually on a day when my flatiron shorts out). We'll cry in January about the freezing cold temperatures and -30 windchill and then bitch, moan and fan ourselves seven months later when we're MELTING in all of the heat.
Anyway, I digress.
Spring. Yes, let's talk about spring.
While I love all the signs that winter's chill is thawing, spring brings along one Very Unwelcome Guest to Maureen's Warm Weather Party: Allergies. You name it, I'm allergic to it. Pollen, grass, cats, dogs, dust, mold and I'm sure a bunch more that I haven't discovered yet.
But thanks to the wonders of allergy medicine (Zyrtec, I would so marry you and have your little pill babies), I'm able to do stuff like, you know, go outside and clean my house.
Of course, I can't complain too much about my allergies. Because they are a perfect excuse for getting out of stuff. Like when my mother-in-law wants to go hiking or camping: "Sorry! Allergies!" or when it's my turn to clean the kitty litter, "No way! I feel an allergy attack coming on!"
And then I go pop an allergy pill and read US Weekly.