That person who says I can’t wait for summer is also the first to ask where did the summer go?
Let’s analyze this person’s expectations prior to summer, their actual summer agenda and their proficiency in fulfilling it.
- What’s more intrusive than fireworks? Not much. They happened.
- What’s more patriotic than a Memorial Day Parade? They paraded.
- Summer Movies? Check.
- Summer Celebrity Deaths. Check +. Far more than usual the older one gets.
- Scorching inhumane temperatures? Check, and in my city during a sanitation strike.
For my liking, the summer season made its usual uninvited and oppressive appearance. Those poor bastards in SoCal, they definitely are providing the big finale. They’re not asking where summer went. They want a second stab at winter. Back to School sales must get their goat.
I know where my summer went. A gut renovation (no not a gastric bypass) of our apartment, not leaving the city any weekend, feeling lonely in a strange city I’m still unsure why we even moved to, experiencing social rudeness on the sidewalk, the grocery store, the lobby of my own building. That’s where it went. Are my woolens and tweeds ready to roll? Oh hell ya. As a tribute to tariffs, I am only airing my previous collection this fall. There shall be no inventory expansion in 2025. I was organizing a closet over the weekend (drunk) and realized anything that hangs is appropriate to wear maybe eight months per year. Then there’s a drawer with three pairs of sweats, a pair of linen genie pants, and two Izod classic fit polos. A mint green one and a middle of the road blue one. That’s the summer fashion line. Sometimes I rotate the two Izods. Sometimes I don’t. Ya think anyone’s noticed? All bets are on they haven’t.
But no more tears pour moi. These summer’s days are finally dwindling down to a just a few. I’m going to Paris for the holidays and have family coming to me for Thanksgiving. That’s something to look forward to. Not smelling like a goat. Oh one trip to Houston for a week. Funny that so easily slips from memory. That’s at the end of August, so goat perfume shall apply to that venture.
In grade school, we had to tell the class what we did on our summer vacation. My bag of material was always empty as I did nothing and went nowhere.
So see ya Summer. Don’t let the fall breeze blow up your skirt on the way out the door. I hate you and all that you stand for. The loose and provocative dressing, those damned flip flops, and the need to drive around town with your windows down blasting obnoxious music. Nobody blasts Mozart and ya never hear Vivaldi’s Four Seasons pumped up. Just that techno crappo loud as sh*t stuff. Why would anyone think the world needs to hear what they listen to?
Three more weeks. Roll up your windows, change your outfits and get ready to feel some crisp weather.
Ahh the fall. I can’t wait until Autumn!