February is a useless month. If you are having a fabulous month so far, well, keep that sunny piece of information to yourself you stupid happy shiny person because so far this month has been dreadful for those of us living in the North of the country. Seriously, it's snowing, it's been snowing, it's not planning on stopping snowing until at least mid-March. Everyone looks awful, pasty, chapped, everyone's hair is a mess. It's no one's fault, well, it's some of your faults, but I'm being charitable here, enjoy it, it wont last. Everyone is eating a lot because you can absolutely justify being slightly rounder in this weather, it just makes sense, you need that fat. Somehow this time of year just encourages us all to behave like bears, large, surly, anti-social and sleepy. You add a handle of cheap vodka to a bear cave and you basically have a Yale party minus the vaguely emo music and the diet coke.
And yet it is the midst of this most awkward and unattractive of months that the good people of Hallmark and Hershey have conspired to create a holiday celebrating love and attractiveness. In this month of constant sleet and snow, with most people still in debt from the holiday season and stress eating on account of how stressful they find their bodies, we are supposed to don various shades of red and pink and find someone to trade saliva with by the 14th. The logic, I cannot find it.
Now, before you label me as a bitter single girl spitting venom at the world because I am jealous having not yet found the Tristian to my Isolde or the Avalard to my Eloise or whatever other doomed pair of idiots whose "romance" you find to be most affecting, let me tell you something. 1. That all might be true about me. 2. Shut up, if you have you have someone awesome to be with then you probably aren't enough of a hater to be reading this. And most importantly 3. I'm just being practical here. This is a disgusting time of year. No one I know feels good about themselves. My friend Becca has just gone from being perfectly fine to, in the space of 24 hours, being a black hole of infection. Seriously, send the girl some soup, she has approximately a thousand pounds of work for the week. Now, Becca is an all star. She is going to be over this in no time. But people here at not-Yale? The weaker bears of the horde, shall we we say? They are dropping like flies. And with the cold and the snow and the freezing rain carbo-loading seems not just like a good idea but an essential need.
As for me, well, I'm choosing the wine and sweatpants method of staying warm in this, the coldest of times. I do understand that in theory it's going to have to stop snowing here at some point, and once that happens happy attractive people will emerge from the tanning beds in which they have been hiding and re-populate the northeast. But until that time comes I will be struggling in solitude, and I suggest that you all do the same. That's right, ugg boots and mini-skirt, I'm talking to you.
Leah Franqui is a fairly interesting person/director/writer/reader/eater/drinker. She likes ugly dogs and dislikes her hair in the morning. She's a sucker for environmental causes and plays hardball with deals on chewing gum. She is a struggle.