February is my favorite month. I don’t exactly know why. My birthday is in February, but I don’t think that’s it. When I notice my birthday, it tends to be because something went awry. Either I’m sick and spend the day complaining about being sick on my birthday. Or the person who decides to take me out for my birthday bumps into an old friend and leaves me alone for the evening. Otherwise it’s just a day like any other. I love typical February weather, but I think October has the best weather of any month. It’s a pretty bleak time of the sports calendar. Spring training starts, but as much as I love baseball, I don’t pay any attention until April. The Super Bowl happens in February, but I don’t even watch every year. It’s certainly not something to get excited about. And it’s frankly annoying when it lands on my birthday. February’s observances are pretty nice. Lincoln and Washington are well worth remembering, but I don’t get President’s Day off of work or anything like that. I’ve always been a great defender of Valentine’s Day. And any holiday devoted to a large rodent is fine by me. Plus, it certainly doesn’t hurt that there’s a good chance someone will be showing Groundhog Day. February is also Black History Month. That’s another thing well worth observing. And, if we’re lucky, some media outlets might actually play some blues or jazz as part of it. I do unequivocally like the fact that February is the only month with fewer than 30 days. Regular years are perfectly four weeks long, which is great. And leap years are all around awesome. I’m always jealous of leap babies. I guess my love of February is a lot like love in general. It can’t be explained. I can point to things I like about it, but none of them are the real reason February is my favorite. It just is and I’m happy it’s here.