sprung

I just spent lunch break in the park by my office, and can safely say that people are greeting the arrival of spring with perhaps a bit more enthusiasm than is wise.

Ladies, it is not yet warm enough to justify sunbathing. Lying on the grass basking in the sunshine, sure. But nothing involving bikini tops. It is still March. You have plenty of time to develop malignant melanomas and handbag skin. Pace yourselves.

Gentlemen, for the sweet love of Jesus, if you are going to wear man-sandals you need to do something about your feet. They've been safely ensconsed in wingtips and sneakers and boots for months and are not ready to be thrust, ungroomed, upon an unsuspecting public. A pedicure is not mandatory, but at least clip your gnarly toenails. They should not hang over the edge of your Birkenstocks.

And to the one girl on the corner of 19th and Penn: I know it's tough to plan outfits for days with a thirty-five-degree temperature span. One is always a little too cold or a little too warm. I feel your pain, I do. But donning flipflops, a floaty linen circle skirt over bare legs, a turtleneck sweater and a wool scarf is not the way to tackle this problem. Then again, you probably don't need me to tell you this; you already looked really uncomfortable. And a little bag-ladyish.