Our fairy tale winter is over

(MCT) — Once upon a time in a land known as Chicago, before the madness of the year 2012, the people lived in fear of a great beast. This beast shaped the people’s behavior and their moods and their belief that, having survived the beast’s attacks for so many eons, they were the strongest people anywhere.

The beast was called Winter.

In the ancient days, Winter was a reliable terror.

“You cannot escape me!” he roared and the people — a hardy folk who had built a civilization on frozen soil that lesser mortals believed to be fit only for wild onions and potholes — nodded.

This, they thought — this wind, this dirty snow, this noble struggle — was their fate, and, with proud defiance, the Chicago people hugged their North Face coats to their trembling bones.

The beast usually pounced in November, huffing and puffing and cackling, “I may stick around til June, suckers!” and, usually, at first, the people cheered.

“Cozy!” they cried. “Let’s go sledding!”

Soon, however, they grew bitter, weary, sick of scratchy skin, while day after day, the beast’s giant shadow darkened the skies even at noon, his icy breath sliced through the thickest coat and, with a great exhale, he turned train platforms into hell’s lobby.

“Seasonal Affective Disorder?” he bellowed at those who huddled in front of their 10,000-lux SAD therapy light boxes. “Man up. You want sunlight all year, get a condo in Scottsdale.”

In those years, the weakest of the weak heeded Winter’s taunt. They fled to lazy places — Phoenix, Fort Lauderdale — pretending to be happy in jogging shorts and SPF 30, though they were not truly happy, no matter what their gloating postcards said.

No, the true Chicago people knew that without the beast, they were not themselves. Without him to fortify them, to help them divide one season from the others, to teach them the horrors of frozen dog poop, they were just wimps who thought every day was May, as pathetic as Californians.

Then came the shock. The madness. The year 2012.

The people waited. And they waited. Any minute, they knew, the beast would storm in and they could resume their seasonal bravery — Dibs! — along with their winter whining.