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March is the month that can't make up its mind. One day it's warm and sunny, and you're ready to break out the shorts. The next day, it's like, "Surprise! Winter's back, and here's some snow." March is the only month that leaves you questioning your wardrobe choices daily. And the wind in March—seriously, it's like nature's way of playing with your hair. "Oh, you spent an hour styling your hair? Let me fix that for you with my gusty winds.
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December is the month of excess. Too many parties, too much food, and don't even get me started on the gift-giving stress. It's like, "Hey, let's buy gifts for everyone we know and their neighbor's dog." By the time Christmas comes around, you're broke and questioning the life choices that led you to this gift-wrapping nightmare. And New Year's Eve? The pressure to have the best night ever is too real. If your New Year's resolution is to survive December without going broke or insane, you're doing it right.
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You ever notice how each month has its own identity crisis? January starts all ambitious, like, "I'm gonna be the month of new beginnings!" By the time it hits February, it's like, "Wait, was I supposed to stick to those resolutions?" March is just confused, trying to decide if it's winter or spring. And then there's April, playing pranks on everyone like it's the class clown of the calendar. May comes around, acting all floral and sunny, but deep down, it knows it's just the gateway to summer. June is like, "I'm officially summer, but still figuring out how to avoid sunburn.
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Let's talk about February, the overachiever of short months. It's like, "I may be short, but I'll hit you with Valentine's Day and make you question your relationship status." Seriously, February is like the Cupid of time, shooting arrows at your love life. And don't get me started on those leap years—February gets an extra day, but what does it do with it? Nothing! It's the procrastinator of the calendar. "I'll figure out what to do with this extra day... maybe next leap year.
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