Dear Winter,

We need to talk.

Just because a rodent in Pennsylvania extended your stay, you’re under no obligation to accept it as gospel truth. In fact, and I say this as kindly as I can, you’ve already worn out your welcome, and Phil is a fool.

December was cool, pun intended, but really, after the whole dreaming-of-your-precip thing, we’re ready for you to move on. Home Depot is selling lawn bags. Are you hearing this, Old Man? Lawn bags.

I also have it on good authority that March is ready to, um, march, so the recent forecast of more of you this week is quite disheartening and a blatant affront to her zeal.

Please. Don’t be cold-hearted. We’re craving warmth. And ugly feet. We miss sweat. We want to be able to get a loan for eggs in our shirt sleeves. And if that’s not enough, our kids, our precious progeny, want and deserve to smile with unchapped lips. For the love of all that’s good, do it for the children.

It’s time. Really. Just bow out. Surrender your grip. Take your wind chill and go home.

From the depth of our heart and electric bill, thank you.

Yours for episodic climate change,

Todd