Temperatures are expected to reach 80 degrees. And the sun is totally visible.
But the hardy people of the Midwestern suburbs are unconvinced. They've seen this kind of thing before. They know.
All that stands between them and a late season snowstorm that will bring traffic to a standstill and swift death to the presumptuous array of foliage that has sprung too soon from the earth are the weather gods. And me.
Having come from a land where the only two seasons are Patio Furniture in the Pool and Patio Furniture out of the Pool, I do not share their sense of caution. I moved the palm trees outside a week ago. Yesterday I grilled chicken with lime and I didn't even have to sweep snow off the grill.
Today I am thinking of opening Margarita Season. Unofficially, of course. I am not a total idiot.
The locals are skeptical. "Don't do it," they warn. "Make some sort of vodka drink instead. Anything but Margaritas. You will only anger them."
"But there is no mint for mojitos," I say. "Mojitos?" they hiss. "Are you out of your mind? Do you want to bring about Snowmageddon?"
"It's practically April," I say cautiously.
"Hah," they say. "April." They practically spit the word.
They shake their heads and check their supplies of salt. Not the kind you use for the rim of a glass. They do not even think of putting the snow shovels away.
I know they're right. But the blue skies are too hard to resist. Also, I am new to these parts. The weather gods probably don't even know who I am yet. Besides, the high school girls have been wearing shorts for weeks.
It won't be all my fault.