The sun is warming up to me, whispering through the sultry winds: "wear the shorts today, the spaghetti top. I'll keep you warm all day, baby."

But I won't be fooled! I know the moment I move in with my warm-weather clothes, the sun will have commitment issues. The clouds will cover every inch of the sky's skin. The wind, once a warm and intimate whisper, will hurl cold insults, breathing icily down my back.

Oh weather, you temperamental bachelor-mistress. You thrive to pull us from the safety of our climate controlled cars. You curl your fingers invitingly, seducing us onto lakes, into skimpy bikinis on the beach.

I'll have none of it, I tell you!