February is the shortest month, yet it seems the fullest with crazy hectic days — festivals and special days all squeezed into it like there were no other months. Uncommon people I know were born on this month. Cupid’s on duty on the fourteenth. By a quirk of fate, the fifth of February won me over. Julius Caesar gets remembered every leap year. The twenty-ninth and the rest of the year — when women have the license to turn like prowling cats. (Hey, good luck to the bachelorettes and the bachelors, too.)

Roses are red, violets are blue, I often forget the “r” in February.

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