I think it was T. S. Eliot that wrote, “April is the cruelest month.” I don’t want to get into an argument with a famous writer, but I’m afraid I have to disagree — it’s not April, it’s February. Both you faithful readers know that I hate (maybe that’s too strong a word) February. I try to celebrate all the great “holidays” in the month, but really, February is long, cold and none of its holidays really serve any point.
But, finally, today is the last day of February. This year it had only 28 days, but it seems like it was seventy three days long. Actually, February would be too long if it only had eight or nine days. If I had my way, we’d go back to the way the Romans did it, and only have ten months a year. February, and maybe some other month, needs to go. And I should mention that on top of everything else, February is the hardest month to spell.
I know I can’t change the calendar and I can’t change the weather and I should just accept things as they are, but the cruel and heartless month of February is hard to accept — it has no redeeming qualities. So beginning tomorrow, we get 11 straight months to enjoy. Good riddance, February.
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