Sure we have a few weeks left until the equinox, but, essentially, summer’s end has come. As a gal who has spent the last two months reveling in sunshine, lazy mornings, and pool time, I don’t welcome it. In fact, the end of summer leaves me feeling like a discarded teenage girl who has been unceremoniously dumped by the love of her life.
Remember that girl in high school who was desperately in love with her boyfriend, ditched her friends to hang with him exclusively, and could be spotted writing his name in hearts on her notebook? Remember when he dumped her and he was no longer the dope dude she was going to marry some day, but the evil bastard who needed to be destroyed? I’m that girl. The ex is summer.
Sure, I could make myself feel better by thinking of all the joy that fall has to offer, like hay rides with the kids or a wardrobe that hides the effects of the sangria and s’mores I indulged in this summer, but I’m not ready to move on yet. In order to give fall all of myself, I need to get over summer. Fall deserves that much.
So, allow me to channel my inner angsty teenager and focus on all the nasty shit summer has put me through.
Putting My Kids Into a Hot Car
Trying to put my three-year-old in her car seat on a hot July day has done more damage to my back than any amount of winter shoveling ever could. No matter how long I run the air conditioner, the seat is still too hot and that kid contorts herself like a Cirque de Soleil acrobat in order to wriggle herself free of my grip. This is especially awesome when some impatient dipshit thinks it’s a good idea to wait for a parking spot inhabited by someone with kids.
There’s nothing like the first flying insect of the summer season coming into your house to make you long for an icy, barren January day. You know what was in my house this summer? A cricket. Apparently a cricket in the house is considered good luck, but when you see a bug the size of a small rodent spring across the room at you, it’s a tad disconcerting. Plus, I had to catch and release the damn thing because the Internet told me I’d face several years of bad luck if I killed Jiminy Cricket.
There are certain things people ask of you only in the summer months. One of those things is going camping. Oh, it’s summer you say? So it sounds like fun to you to erect a shelter the size of a powder room, cram into it with your entire family, and wake up damp, cold, and uncomfortable? Thanks for the invite. Now I get to choose between being labeled a diva or lying awake at 4 a.m. convincing myself that I can hold my pee until dawn.
Summer heat always arrives with it’s douchey counterpart, humidity. I don’t know about you, but I never feel quite as confident as I do than on a day my hair grows exponentially larger with each passing moment spent outdoors. Add to that enough sweat to make people wonder whether I’ve peed my pants, and I feel simply irresistible.
Who, other than a vampire, hates long days of sunshine? Parents who like watching Netflix with a glass of wine in their hands at 9 p.m. It doesn’t matter how opaque their blackout shades are, my kids are not sticking to their 7:30 bedtime in the summer months. This means that when I’d typically be considering a third glass of wine and one more episode, I’m getting someone a third glass of water and begging them to read the next book on their own.
I feel ready to move on already. All I need is for fall to swoop in with a pumpkin latte and summer will just be somebody I totally never stalk on Facebook.