“Rain, rain, go away come back another day.”

I tell you what, the same thing can be said for the cold.

How I long for balmy spring days where the light breeze is just enough to ward off a glistening forehead. I love the springtime. It’s my favorite time of the year.

On my way into work Tuesday, I heard an announcer for a radio station in Panama City Beach, Fla., say the day was the first official day of the Spring Break tourist season for the beach city.

I almost drove off the road. It’s a freezing 39 degrees outside and they’re talking about spring break?

The DJ said for their area, the next 60 days was their “make it or break it” spring break season, with tourists coming from every corner of the nation to enjoy sun and sand on the Gulf Coast.

I hate to break to the Sigma Chi’s and the Kappa Delta Pi’s: It’s going to be more of watching MTV in the hotel room than seeing themselves on the Ti-Vo later.

It’s going to be so gosh dog-gone cold, one won’t be able to do anything other than huddle together for warmth in the coming weeks.

And although the Weather Channel is predicting temperatures ranging from the upper to 60s to mid 70s next week, my gut tells me it’s not going to hold.

By the time Tuesday afternoon blew in – pun intended – I though I was going to freeze to death and had come to the conclusion it was never going to get warm again.

To me, people are just happier in the spring.

Cold brings to mind the dreary drab of depression, while spring lends more to new beginnings and growth.

We’ve all heard the saying that “March comes in like a lion but goes out like a lamb,” followed by “April’s showers bring May flowers.”

Now, any reasonable person could reason that this is the “lion” portion of March, and in the coming weeks all we have to look forward to is – you guessed it – rain.

My youngest asked me Monday night, “Mommy, when are we going to the beach to spend the night?” as I had been promising since last summer we would take an extended trip to the beach during the next summer.

“When it gets warm,” I replied.

“It was warm Saturday,” was her quick comeback, and I guess in her 5-year-old mind that was the warmest day she remembers and therefore Mommy had reneged on her promise.

“No, honey, when it’s really hot out. Then we’ll go,” I said.

“It gets hot? How about that,” she said. “Like sweaty hot?”

“Yep, it has to be sweaty hot.” I thought that was a good gauge and would probably give me a window of opportunity from about May and cover me through September for impending beach trip.

“Cool,” she said.

And here I thought we were finished with cool and had moved on to hot. Go figure. I’m just ready for it to be warm.