Spring. For a week, it taunted us with balmy temperatures and clear skies. We shucked our polar fleece and turned our pasty faces towards the gentle fingers of sunlight, soaking up vitamin D and inhaling pollen in equal measures. Even the plants were convinced that it was time to bloom.

And then it started raining. And raining. And though I know we always need it, and that the real spring will be here before we know it, I feel cheated. I was ready for tank tops and cute skirts, not muddy earth and soggy shoes. Never mind that this happens every year. It still feels cruel and unusual.

Today promises to be a break in the rain - maybe a few showers, but not the steady, puddle-making rain of the last week. I will throw my windows open and go outside and stomp around in whatever the day dishes out because the inside of my house and the inside of my car are suspiciously lacking fresh air.

Maybe if I throw my head back and roar my disapproval, spring will come back. (please)