Wither Channel

After an early Easter and only our second year of a bumped-up daylight savings time tricked the Midwest into thinking spring was right around the corner, the extended winter felt especially cruel. But Chicago hit the 70-degree mark for the first time since October 21, 2007 yesterday, and you know what that means...

Yes, folks, it's officially that time of year when you don't have to listen to me bitching about the weather.

Some of you might be saying, "C'mon, now. As soon as it hits 95 degrees in the big city you'll be complaining along with the rest of us."

You must not be aware of the public service pact into which I entered two years ago. I came to a collective agreement with everyone I might come into contact with never to complain about the heat, no matter how much the outdoors might resemble the depths of Hades.

Some were skeptical. And I'll admit that it does get tough, especially when you hail from Minnesota. That's not just because we're hard-wired to yap endlessly about the weather, either. Say I'm in an elevator with some sassy old woman who's telling off the weather gods. It's all I can do to keep from adding a "Yeah, and how 'bout that humidity, eh?" As if elevators weren't uncomfortable enough.

But I've managed to stick to my pledge for two years running now. And really, it's the least I can do: you all have been so patient.