A Complaint Letter To Punxsutawney Phil


Dear Punxsutawney Phil,

What the heck?

Is it nice down there, in that burrow where you spend the winter hibernating in? Do you have a Netflix account? How about HBO GO? You must. I bet you’re just so into Breaking Bad that you chose 6-more weeks of winter just so you can have an excuse to sit at home in your pizza-stained snuggie and binge on seasons 1-5. I understand, really, i do. But come on.
For one thing, i’m running out of pants. Out of turtleneck sweaters. Out of patience to deal with 2 degree weather and ice that sneaks its way into my worn-out boots and takes forever to dry between the gaps of my toes.

My tan lines even had an intervention with me last week because they feel ignored, displaced, unsure of how much longer they can last on my pale, pale body. They gave me the ultimatum that they’re jet-setting some place warm until i come reclaim them in the spring time.

Is that what you’re doing too? Are you also a snowbird? I bet you secretly have a place down there in Boca Raton, Florida and only migrate back up here to make your February 2nd appearance.

Listen, please. My most intimate relationship all winter has been with a space heater and the only part of my body that gets exposed when i got outdoors are my eyeballs.

We all make bad choices every now and then. I was Bret Michaels for Halloween one year in college. I even went 45 days without eating a slice of pizza (can you imagine?). We all make mistakes and sometimes there’s not an opportunity for a second chance. For a do-over.

But could you at least do me one small favor? Could you tell winter to take it a bit easy on us? To stay way above freezing? To flirt with the sun, sun, Mr. Golden Sun, every once in a while?

If you do that, just that, I promise not to giveaway how Breaking Bad ends, okay?

All my love,

A Floridian trying to survive in NYC

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image – Flickr / alemaxale