Someone who knows me well sent me a card with this greeting, attributed to Dorothy Parker:

Every year, back Spring comes,

with the nasty little birds

yapping their fool heads off.

It’s here. I send you my condolences. Put away those lovely woolen scarves, your handsome jackets, and all your closed-toe shoes.

You’ll have to adjust to the shops’ single-minded pastels (as if an adult can be taken seriously wearing canary yellow or shades of peach).

Dust off the fan blades and get out the tissues; it’s allergy time.

Pi day has passed, along with Einstein’s birthday. Is there anything to look forward to?

Possibly: