Uncle.

Dear Home Town,

I'm a prairie girl. I was born here, I've lived here for the vast majority of my life, I know what it means to live on a big, flat, semi-northern piece of the planet. I love the prairie; mountains, as beautiful as they are, make me miss the big, big sky. I love you, and I proudly sing your praises when I am away from you.
I know you, and I choose to live here. Which is why it drives me to distraction when people who also made this choice bitch and complain about you when you do what you do, when you are what you are, namely, a place that gets dangerously cold and snowy for a significant part of the year. It's the trade off, and I accept that.

But now this... it's ENOUGH.

I've had it. I really have. It was a LONG, COLD, SNOWY, FREAKING MISERABLE WINTER. I believed it would end, I believed in you. I knit scarves and fair isle hats and double-knit mittens and wrapped everyone I love in pure wool and thought about the smell of spring and smiled a frozen smile. I DEFENDED you. You owe me an explanation. And I'm staying in my apartment and not coming out until I get one. Take that. (P.S. Knitting Gods, in case this is some sort of smack-down for my audacity to knit little socks because it was "spring", I promise to go back to Catriona if you'll please just make it stop.)