Pennsylvanians really only have two modes, and neither of them is “this weather is nice.” We are either standing in 19-degree wind saying, “I can’t take this cold anymore,” or standing in 82 degrees with 40% humidity saying, “This is disgusting.” There is no middle ground. A 64-degree sunny day lasts about eleven minutes here before somebody says it’s either “still a little chilly in the shade” or “getting a little muggy.” We spend all winter begging for summer, all summer begging for fall, all fall pretending we’re not about to complain about winter again, and then the second it hits 50 in March, somebody’s in cargo shorts at Sheetz acting like we made it.