I wonder if Punxsutawney Phil gets death threats.
I’m not saying we should threaten the poor thing. The position of the sun isn’t his fault. However, I am getting awfully tired of winter.
Generally speaking I’m very fond of snow right up through the end of January, but I think I had my fill somewhere around the day after the Christmas blizzard this year. And by the time Valentine’s Day rolls around, accompanied by extreme cold and lots of miserable, depressed and depressing single people, I’m pretty much willing to move to Hawaii.
That’s why I usually just ignore Valentine’s Day and celebrate Viking Day instead. There’s more candy, because you pillage it from all the people celebrating Valentine’s Day, and plus you get to wear one of those pigtail hats with horns on the sides (even though real Vikings didn’t wear those). Then there’s the warm fuzzy feeling of satisfaction in meeting every non-Scandinavian you know and thinking: My ancestors beat up your ancestors.
Hey, we have to be Minnesota Nice all the other 364 days of the year. Something’s gotta make up for that.