It is not Spring! Two days ago, the weatherman promised I would get to see Spring, but his words have not held true. I believe that pickles… very dill pickles… would make him think about being kinder in his predictions, don’t you? I think that if he is going to promise me Spring, then he should give me Spring.
Suppose I had decided to cast-off my jacket and run around in short sleeves, just because of that mean weatherman’s prediction! There I would be, short sleeves and all, caught outside when it started snowing… again. It does not snow in Spring. That is the rules. I know because I MADE the rules. And nobody can change the rules that I, myself, made. That’s another one of the rules; that no one can change my very own rules. ‘Cause I said.
I think that weathermen who telltalltales should be flogged. On accounta’ that’s a word I like; Flogged. It prob’ly means being turned into a frog, only with a lisp, on accounta’ the L. Can’t you just see it? A weatherman promises I’ll get to have Spring and, right away, he is turned into a Flog. That’s ’cause the real weather knew that the weatherman wasn’t gonna’ keep his promise.
Next thing you know, there are all kinds of little, tiny Flogs running around, everywhere. And everybody would know that those were the guys who used to be weathermen. MWAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!
Until Spring arrives, keep a hug on.