My least favorite season is here.
Don't get me wrong, I love spring in DC, all two weeks of it before we begin the slow simmer of perpetual August. It's our punishment for such a lovely spring. Temperatures are comfortable, and spring fever hit us HARD. Remember that really warm day about two weeks ago? The world was out on blankets making out. The city stripped itself of grey suits in favor of showing some skin, and the unseasonable timing made it all ours.
You remember, as a DC resident, to avoid being outside.
The cherry blossoms have arrived.
This means two things for me.
1.) take the bus everywhere instead of squeezing on metro, because someone's fanny pack is going to get all up in my business while they are reprimanding their 13 children in a vague southern accent that could be from anywhere and everywhere at the same time.
2.) I sneeze like a sickly child for their entire 10 day peak time. Straight.
I have never suffered any other real allergies. Sure, a lot of dust makes me sneeze, but give me a break. I only actually for-real dust when the OCD becomes so acute that the swiffer duster doesn't do it for me and I have to wipe everything down to remove the offending particles. I have spent more time at home and at work staring up into the fluorescent light praying for freedom.
One of my favorite episodes of the Adventures of Pete and Pete (you remember it, don't lie) was when everyone revolted against bedtimes and they tried to stay up for as many days as they could to beat the world record of no sleep. One of the friends of Pete (or was it Pete?) succumbed to sleep after staring at the sun to make her sneeze.
I have had no such luck, but EVER since I was a little kid I have ALWAYS squinted at light to make myself sneeze. It's just about the only thing that works for me. Last night while poking around on my computer I spent more time staring up than a twelve year old boy hanging out by the staircase at the mall with a camera phone. At work, all day, I have been staring at the fluorescent light in vain, pleading with my nose.
I would go outside, and just stare at the sun, but thanks to THE STUPID CHERRY BLOSSOMS, there are 8 million Midwestern tourists who are going to block my view with their gi-normous Midwestern selves (Midwesterners I know, my apologies). Note their FBI cheap sweatshirt, white reeboks, and light tapered-leg jeans. They have infested our city and my view.
People, they are just plants. Yes, very pretty plants, but just plants. They are near museums, nice museums, but pretty boring museums. They are from Japan, yes, but I suppose it's not even on your radar screen to think about traveling there? You've been to Vegas right? Why ever go to Paris? If you are coming here, why not look at the cherry blossoms in other places, or take a cultural walking tour of an interesting neighborhood? Do something aside from be big white people gaping at big white buildings.
But then again, I don't want you to. Stay where you are, tourists, in pockets of the city that are easily avoidable. Maybe I don't want a zillion people clustering around what is unique about this city. Does cakelove need a line around the block like Magnolia bakery? No thanks.
Perhaps I confused the haterade with my claritin this morning, but I'm serious.
image taken from www.nationalcherryblossomfestival.org