Our next-door neighbors also have two young children, newborn twins. Yesterday I saw them out and about in full foul weather gear, each with a twin tucked under a jacket. When I ran into the male half of the couple later, I remarked, “You’re getting out in spite of the weather, huh?”

This man, with whom I’ve never exchanged anything but polite pleasantries in the past, barked, “Screw the weather. Fuck it.”

I venture to say he speaks for all of New England.

Weather, you’re on notice. We’re tired of it. We won’t be pushed around any longer. Summer is going on with or without your cooperation. Beach outings, long runs, barbecues, picnics — we’ll do them in the pouring rain or oppressive humidity if we have to. Do your worst. Wet grass? Flooded streets? Mosquitoes the size of plump pigeons, whose bites require emergency intervention? Bring. It. On.