It’s that time again.
You know it, and I’m guessing you may even know it well, as, thankfully, I do.
It’s the time when lunches extend to nearly two hours, where classes are skipped and where the sole purpose of eating brunch on weekends is a feeble excuse to be outside. It’s when you can justify going out on a Tuesday night even as your checking account is wailing with starvation due to its $6 balance, simply because the temperature no longer warrants a jacket. It’s the demise of productivity, may it gladly rest in peace.
It’s Spring, my friends, and the fever has hit.
Finally, nature seems to have awakened, at least here in the South. Trees blossoming, grass growing in the formerly-brown-dirted bowl at Piedmont Park, and yesterday I was so inspired by the bees drunkenly buzzing around that I decided to take their lead and imbibe myself on some deathly margaritas. And, accordingly, we know what that means…”the birds do it, the bees do it…”
Yep. Likely you, or someone you know, or someone THEY know, will do it. Calm your raging hormones, my friends, I’m simply referring to the phenomenon that is SRS: Spring Romance Syndrome.
Is it the warm breezes? The asexual reproduction that is blooming around us? The fact that half of the dogs at Piedmont are so excited to be outside that they’re literally humping anything that resembles another canine? Or perhaps it’s the warm-weather inspired, skin-bearing clothing that is so popular with us gals and so attractive to you guys. Whatever it is, I see the glints in the eyes and the pheremones are so prevalent you can nearly smell the musk in the air. Face it, people, you’re titillated, and it’s obvious. So much for subtlety!
Always one to speak (or write) what I know, it’s clear that I’m no stranger to this phenomenon myself. My work outfit today was deemed inappropriate (who knew sandals and linen capris with a jean jacket doesn’t fall under ‘business casual?’) and I definitely invested in a $7.99 foldable chair so I could again add some more sun damage to my previously-burned chest by a jaunt at the park. As for romance, I’ve proposed to no less than three people this week (in jest, but who knows what would happen if someone took me up on it!) and have told newly-met people, and I quote, “I like YOU.” (Trust me, he was cute.) Raging ball o’ hormones may be a bit too much, but, like my synapses on a good day, they’re at least poppin’.
All this from what? 70 degree temps and a bit of sunshine? The transition to flip flops from knee-high boots? Halter tops and jean skirts? Yes, yes, and DEFINITELY yes, I’m happy to say that Spring Fever has hit yours truly, so, to that, I leave you with one thing.
Forgive my scatterbrainedness and my proposals of marriage, my un-work-like work attire, and my happy giddy Corona-drinking, Margarita-imbibing unproductive self — I can’t help it. It’s Mother Nature’s fault.