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Poor Phil.

For those of you who aren’t fond of the winter, brace yourselves, for Punxsutawney Phil has spoken…or crawled back into his hole, rather. Yesterday was the life-changing event Groundhog Day, a tradition stemming from Europe which has been carried on in the United States for decades. As tradition has it, on Feb. 2 of every year, the groundhog creeps out of his hole after a deep, winter-long slumber. If he sees his shadow, then it means another grueling six weeks of pure, hellish cold, in which case the groundhog returns back to his quarters for a little more shut eye. However, if the groundhog doesn’t see its shadow, then supposedly he stays above ground and it is a sign that spring will come early.

Let’s not forget that Groundhog Day is indeed a legend and that Phil’s predictability is about as accurate as a weather man’s forecast. So that’s about 30% of the time? Only kidding, I have no idea how accurate a weatherman or Phil is, all I know is that I’m one of the people who for some odd reason believe in Phil’s ability to predict the future so I’m prepared for another month and a half of, well, torture.

It’s bad enough that I have to fear for my life every time I walk down the stairs of my apartment building, dodging an ice patch here and slipping on a snow mound there, and now I have to worry about six more weeks of this?! Not to mention I have to glide through the unsalted parking lot of my building and at times flail my arms in order to regain my balance as gracefully as possible. Can you tell that I love winter?

Don’t get me wrong, a nice White Christmas is always something I secretly wish for. A five month whiteout, on the other hand, is not (thanks a lot, Phil). I suppose I should be careful what I wish for.