DC has spring, sprang, sprung

Taking a pretty girl to baseball games all summer is good for your soul

Apr 06, 2026

I work in a building that is always freezing cold and sits on the precipice of locals and tourists in DC. If you take the north exit at 5 PM you merge with the commuters. If you take the south exit, you’re deposited a block from the Washington Monument and must dodge middle schoolers in matching t-shirts and families trying to navigate with Google Maps.

For the past few months, I have grown accustomed to bundling up and rocketing out the north exit, beelining for the warm metro and only see the monument in the mornings over the top of my building. But the seasons are changing and there’s no reason to jet to the metro anymore unless I have somewhere exciting to go after work.

Last Wednesday, I took a right out of my office and headed for the south exit for the first time since winter started. The building spit me out into a dense crowd of people also enjoying the warmer days.

I walked the short distance to the grass of the National Mall while talking to Anjali, my high school friend in NYC, and slowly shedding layers of clothing, trying to believe that just two hours ago I was turning on the space heater under my desk to stay warm. I hung up with Anjali right as I met my friends sitting on a picnic blanket on the grass outside of the Smithsonian metro stop. I took off my button up to reveal a tank top and pulled up a pair of gym shorts underneath my black skirt, which might be a bit too short for the workplace. I crumpled the work clothes into a ball and shoved them into the bottom of my Osprey backpack, which I had dug back out of my closet now that it’s warm enough to bike to work. I cannot bike with my big brown purse. Spring requires mobility.

The four of us sat doing a crossword puzzle until Rohan biked up.

Pulling out a pack of beers and a Spikeball kit from his backpack he laughed, “Ever since it has regularly been above 60 degrees, this is all I’ve been carrying around in my backpack.”

I met this group of people back in October when I signed up to be a free agent on a Volo soccer team in Shaw. Every other team seemed far too serious, but I was placed with a group that had started as college friends and gradually expanded though Volo. I hoped to make a friend or two but instead was absorbed by the friend group. Six months later and I am on the Mall until dusk on a Wednesday playing Spikeball until it was completely dark and we could no longer see the ball or the net, and then a little later. When we finally split ways, the weather was too perfect to head underground to the metro but I was too hungry to walk the mile and a half back home. Instead I hopped on a motorized Cabi bike and sped down the protected bike lanes on Pennsylvania and 9th Street as fast as the motor would let me. I knew where to turn without hesitation and without needing to take my phone out of my pocket to check Google Maps. For someone notoriously terrible with directions, this is the prime indicator that I have created roots somewhere. Less than a year ago I was still living in Missouri and preparing to move to DC, a city I had never been to before, and that night on the bike I knew my way.

When I docked the bike and walked up the stairs in my house, I was hot and sticky in a way that could not be replicated by sweating in a gym or a sauna. The kind that can only be produced by a humid day spent outside. While I know that come mid-June I will feel disgusted by that same feeling, that night, the first time I had felt that kind of heat in 2026, it felt like a gift. Like someone had finally scrubbed my brain clean after a harsh winter.

The drastic increase in temperature means I now regularly have to dig the massive duffel back out from under my bed that holds my summer clothes. I keep meaning to switch them over to my closet properly, but the last thing I want to do on a warm day is spend it in my closet. So instead, I continue to dig through it, take what I need, and give it a swift kick back underneath.

On Saturday, I pulled out that duffel bag again to grab my favorite orange mini skirt. I bought the skirt, which is actually a swim skirt, in a Value Village in Winnipeg two years ago with Sigga when I was in town for Folk Fest. It has built-in orange underwear and is so short that when I bend over I am worried about flashing everyone behind me, which, in my opinion, is the perfect length.

The orange skirt was for my Saturday with Tanvi, when the temperature had reached 86 degrees and we decided that it was time to go shopping for new tank tops and sandals for the summer. The plan was to walk to one of my favorite thrift stores in Columbia Heights which has an entire back room full of shoes. A lot of people think that DC doesn’t have real thrift stores, but they just don’t know where to look. We walked up 14th Street to get there and gave ourselves makeovers in Sephora using the tester products, me with purple eyeliner & eye shadow, blue for her. I decided DedCool Mochi Milk would be my scent of the summer and we bought matching Kulfi lip balm. As we kept walking towards Solid State Books, we smacked our lips and I told her we now needed to find new boys to kiss with our new lip balm.

The thrift store was still transitioning from winter to summer, with coats marked down 50% but only a limited supply of tank tops and shorts. We took over the shoe room and tried on every sandal that looked as though it would fit us. I tried on a pair of black pump sandals

“I don’t think I could wear these to work,” I told Tanvi, looking at the shoes in the mirror. Since the only way I keep my sanity at work is by walking to work every morning, I have to make sure I can walk the mile in every pair of shoes I wear.

“But can you wear them to party?” She asked, without hesitation.

It felt, immediately, like the more important question. Winter is about getting from point A to point B as quickly as possible. Spring and summer are about the in-between. I looked at the shoes again and imagined wearing them at the kickoff-to-summer party Tanvi and I are going to throw in May. It is going to be a masterpiece. We’re both going to open up our gates to connect our backyards and invite everyone we know to have a water balloon fight. Water guns will also be supplied, along with kiddie pools full of water to sit in. I’m going to make strawberry watermelon slushies and spike them with vodka. Sometime in the next month I need to call my Uncle Al and have him teach me how to barbeque. You’re not allowed to be admitted unless you’re wearing a swimsuit. Someone might make an apple bong, if that’s a thing in the Northeast like it is in the Midwest. Nobody is allowed to take an Uber home afterwards, they’re required to ride a Cabi bike and experience living. The rats that live in our alley will be invited too, obviously. I’m already starting to make a playlist for it, the two cornerstone songs are “Sheila Ki Jawani” and “Summertime” by Kenny Chesney. If you’re in the area and want an invite, text me.

I ended up buying the shoes. We each bought three pairs of shoes at $9 apiece. Tanvi put one of her new pairs on immediately.

After a trip to Old Navy and scarfing down food at Dave’s Hot Chicken we decided there was only one way to top off the perfect summer day. So we got on the Columbia Heights metro, transferred at Gallery Place, and took the red line up to Woodley Park to the only frozen yogurt place in DC. I’m currently working on an analysis to show the more frozen yogurt places per capita, the less stressed the people are. California is the case study. My favorite part of frozen yogurt is getting a little bit of yogurt and filling the rest with toppings.

We sat outside at the picnic table and talked about raises, how we’re going to be neighbors for the rest of our lives (but never roommates), and about having a “Judy Moody and a Not Bummer Summer” summer. Halfway through, Tanvi noticed the new sandals she had been wearing were both split completely in half. I told her that the split was what was making them so comfortable because they bent with her feet as she walked. As confident as I was in my Shoe Goo after multiple seasons of gluing my cleats back together towards the end of season to avoid breaking in a new pair, she ultimately decided to throw them out in the FroZenYo trash can. They were so cute. RIP. Although we never actually got around to day drinking, we were giggling on the froyo patio as though we were intoxicated.

I am excited for more spring and summer days filled with Spikeball, biking home late at night, shopping, frozen yogurt, giggling and seeing the baby elephant at the zoo. I want to find an outdoor bar that we can become a regular at and then bring a Sharpie and write my number on boys’ arms until one of them invites me to a Nats or Spirit game and buys me a beer with a lime.

But if none of them do, I know Tanvi will always go with me.