Do you hear me?
You ARE May, shouldn't you (of all people) have at least SOME idea what that means? (You obviously don't, so I'll go ahead and tell you.) May means sunshine and flowers. It means bright, warm, beautiful field trips for school children who are so sick of math, reading, and being indoors that they could scream. (Kort's field trip was canceled last week, thanks to you. So yeah, let me just take this opportunity to say thanks. No fire station for him. No renewed appreciation for city workers for him. No picnic lunch in the park. No swings, or slides, or monkey bars. Thanks a lot, May.)
But it wasn't enough to simply ruin his field trip, now was it? No, you have to go and ruin the "fun run" too. How heartless can one month be, May? Honestly? You are giving January a run for his money. (Is it because it was called the fun run, and you just couldn't stand the idea of hundreds of little children having fun...while on a run? Is that it? I'll bet that's it. You are so cold. (Literally AND figuratively.) So COLD, May!!!!)
I got an email from the PTA President saying that the fun run was re-scheduled for Wednesday, because that's when the weather forecasters (a.k.a. world's biggest liars) said it would be nice and sunny...but then there was a conflict with that, and now I just got a new email saying that the fun run is CANCELED and not going to happen at all. NOT. AT. ALL. MAY!!! (I hope you're pleased with yourself, you smug, smug, liar you.)
Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go crawl back into bed and try not to think about how my son was in tears this morning and how the dogs are so depressed that they... okay, who am I kidding? The dogs are happy and content because, well...they are dogs and their happiness doesn't depend upon the weather.
I guess I could learn thing or two from them, but for now, I am just going to be mad at you, May. I don't think I will ever forgive you for this one. You are a jerk. Plain and simple. So there.
Now, if you don't mind, I'm going to ignore you, May. I'm going to curl up in bed with a good book and listen to the sweet serenade of "It's beginning to Look a lot Like Christmas" (which the hubs has been singing at the top of his lungs all morning, no joke) and I'm going to pretend you don't exist. You are dead to me, May. D.E.A.D.
So don't call. And don't write. But please, by all means, let June know that if he doesn't deliver some Sunshine and GOOD TIMES next month, I will personally take it upon myself to call President Obama and get the government involved in regulating the seasons...and you all know very well how nicely THAT would end. Watch yourself.
P.s. Oh yeah, before I forget, Cybil called, and she said she wants her Multiple Personalities back!
(Oh snap! Take that, May!)