It's the first day of spring and the snow has turned the color of tar. The weather is biting, almost rude. When we talk seasons in New York, we cannot be scientific. Spring appeared, and then retreated, and now we are in limbo.

New Yorkers only let the Gregorian calendar dictate one important part of the death of winter, and that is the birth of the summer diet. Some begin resolutely, with gym memberships or the cutting of food groups (sugar, salt, carbs, meat, processed, fried, edible). Others dive right into juice and spiritual cleanses, maybe even a delivery of something (re: poison) masquerading as skinny tea. My favorites are the ones who begin by overhauling their workout wardrobe with handsomely priced spandex and shoes (soon after purchase, these will be worn as 'athleisure-wear' and may never make it inside a gym.) 

The melting of ice, the elongated days - these are really all just a means to an end. It's summer we've been promised and summer that we crave.

Spring is simply a bridge over which our most anxious vanity blooms.