First Fight

Chicago you are windy. You are excessively windy; windy in a “slap me hard across the face when I’m down” way, not in the “sway on a porch swing with dandelions in our hair” way. I know you are the windy city. I know it is your nature to be windy but it is pissing me off.

You mess up my hair, you swirl dirt into my face and you flip my umbrella inside out- none of which is adorably playful but instead rude and disheartening.

Chicago, I know you want to play big city. You want to be rough and tough and play with the big boys like NY and LA but you are a simple one name city; you cannot abbreviate your name to some cool douche two letters. That just isn’t you.

So how about, Chicago, you stop pretending to be the in-your-face, money-driven, power-hungry, graffiti-covered, material goods coveting, sailor-swearing asshole and start being a hello-on-the-street, beer-drinkin’, Levi-wearin’, CTA ridin’, public art appreciating nice guy I know you really are.

If you decide to change your ways, I promise to let you get to third base.