Hey. Chicago. We need to have a talk.
I know you might be upset with me because I’m leaving you. Look, it’s been eight, almost nine, amazing years, and I wouldn’t trade them for anything. It’s been beautiful, and fun, and complicated, and I’ll always be grateful for the time I got to spend with you. And hey – I might just be back right after we’re done here – it’s only a couple of years in California* – and then I might well come straight back to you and stay here for ever more.
But don’t you think it might be better to woo me with gorgeous spring? And your famed amazing summer? Rather than punishing me coldly with a little teaser of 80 degrees, followed by this week of half-that-temps?
Look, Chicago: you know I love you. But you are (literally) cramping my style.
(Here’s an outfit I threw on cause all my beautifully spring-y planned ensembles? Would have left me whimpering, shivering, and turning blue at the extremities.)
- I can’t wait for spring. (Perhaps literally).
- I love you, Chicago. Let’s not make this a miserable breakup. Let’s honor what we had together and do this out right.
- Stay tuned for my favorite springy clothes when I finally get to wear them.
*Please don’t be jealous. Look, yes, it would be nice for once to consider being able to drive a convertible, but you know it’s not about that.