Dear March,
Hey. What the hell do you think you're doing? You are the false hope of New England. The end of February finally comes and everyone thinks "Oh, it's ok, it's ok. March is here. Winter's almost over."
Then what do you do? On your first full day? Dump 10 inches of snow on us. And make me miss work, and get yelled at by my boss because "you're a manager now, and people look up to you." What the hell is that? I'm supposed to drive around in a massive blizzard and risk plowing into a snowbank at 50 miles an hour just so I can go to Beverly and talk to a bunch of mis-fit doctors all day? And I mean our office had a "discretionary attendance policy"... doesn't that mean that I can use my discretion to not come into work and stay in Waltham and watch Vicky Cristina Barcelona instead without having to take crap from anybody?
By the way the rumors of steamy scenes featuring Penelope Cruz and Scarlett Johansson have been vastly overblown. It's nothing to get at all excited about.
Anyway, I've really had it with you, March. You bring nothing to the table. March Madness? The best parts of it are in April. You don't even have a recognized holiday. Just 31 days of bullshit that we all have to put up with. Even crummy February has Valentine's Day, and even though it ends up costing you unnecessary money at least it virtually guarantees that you'll get laid. But you can make no such guarantee, March.
That's all. Maybe I'll make another entry in April.
Sincerely yours,
Bill
