Over a decade ago, Cheryl Frasier of "Miss Congeniality" graced us with a diatribe of wise words in the memorable film. Most likely you don’t, but in case you do need a reminder, upon being prompted to describe her idea of a perfect date, Miss Rhode Island replied:
“That's a tough one. I'd have to say April 25th. Because it's not too hot, not too cold, all you need is a light jacket.”
I laughed and made fun of the ditzy character, and have since seen the joke resurfaced in countless memes and other comical settings. But recently I have come to see the true accuracy, if not pure intelligence, behind her response. She may not have appropriately answered the question to the contest’s liking, but, as the nation continues to either be engulfed in a heat wave or sub-zero ice box, I eagerly support Cheryl’s statement.
Yesterday wasn’t the best day to begin with, being that it was Monday and all. I felt nauseatingly pessimistic as my 6:15 a.m. alarm clock buzzed and I proceeded to change pants four times for no reason other than I simply just couldn’t stick with a decision. After my 38-minute train journey, I hustled into the streets of NYC, greedy for some air to relieve me of the stifling, suffocating haze on the tracks.
I felt no relief.
The air was just as dramatically thick and warm as it had been underground. Feigning acceptance, I ventured on, covering the 14 blocks to work as quickly as I could manage, battling extreme discomfort that I knew was impacting me both physically and emotionally.
It wasn’t until I practically collapsed on my cubicle chair that I recognized the extremity of the situation and the debacle that had become my outfit. My black jeans clung to my body with the vehemence of glitter glue and my blue silk shirt looked like it had enjoyed the company of its own personal monsoon.
I knew in that moment July in a city was not for me.
Taking part in the winter of 2015, during which I was residing in the officially-named snowiest city in the U.S. and depended on a brown paper bag of stale bagels and pop tarts for sustenance, was also not something I particularly took pleasure in.
The constant fear of tumbling down a flight of icy stairs combined with the bitter wind chill that numbs your already vulnerable body in the ten minutes you spend walking to your 9 am can make one hate winter.
But then there’s April 25th.
A day in later spring, a day so late in the month that it probably avoids April showers and encourages May flowers, a day where you can barely feel the bite of summer yet have eclipsed the jaws of winter. A comfortable temperature that warrants maybe a light jacket, where you can sit in your car and not become one with the leather seats or step outside and not feel the invasive, bone-chilling frigidness cemented in the air.
Cheryl was spot on, and I am with her.
