Let us not, however, forget T.S. Eliot's sober and bitter judgment that "April is the cruellest month..."
Yes, April IS cruel--and not just because I always get older on April 13, or because Abraham Lincoln stopped getting older on April 15. But rather, because in Minnesota at least, this supposedly happy month almost always disappoints--on each and every one of its 30 dishonest days, bringing blizzards instead of bunnies, floods instead of flowers. And just when we are SO ready for Whitman's field-sprouts and lilacs, BAM: April snows on our Easter parade.
Haha. April Fool. Poisson d'Avril. I hate April.
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