Long days, hot weather, green grass.
Summer is the golden child of the year. Everyone praises it and pats it on the head.
“What a wonderful season!” people say.
But it's not. If summer were personified it would be a mean girl mocking passers-by while her entourage egged her on. Summer is a bully.
Summer picks on the pale, scrawny or average.
“C'mon! Put on a bathing suit, I dare you!”
Sunny days turn non-gardeners into self-conscious conversationalists and non-bike riders into freaks who should be shunned. If you retreat indoors you are “missing out!” Summer is relentless in its hazing.
Last month I nearly drove my car off of the road when a hornet flew in the window and landed on my lap. The hornet was so big that I could read its body language and its facial expressions.
This weekend I went to an outdoor party on concrete where we should have been safe. But, within an hour I had so many mosquito bites on my arms that grown men were fainting and women had to be carried out on stretchers.
Our apartment hasn't had fresh air since July third because of the heat and humidity. But, weather forecasters still smile fiercely, showing both their top and bottom rows of teeth and tell us that it's going to be “another gorgeous summer day!” Or occasionally, “Oh, look out folks. We are in for some clouds and maybe some rain showers.” Their palpable sadness is translated through their quivering frowns in high definition. Two hours without sunshine will kill all the puppies and unicorns.
I've been hiding in the apartment for weeks. When I leave, my penance for facing the outdoors is a car steering wheel that leaves little burns on my hands, and a driver's seat that leaves humid creases along the back of my pants.
I know I'm not the only one who feels this way. I have a friend named Jay who is a painter and he is ready to throw his easel through the window. He maintains that sunshine isn't conducive to art. Monet was a lovely student of nature but he didn't have an attic studio or like to drink Jägermeister. Art, light, heat, sun and hard alcohol don't mix.
And even the most tolerant people have a breaking point. My husband has started to develop an eyelid twitch when he opens the curtains in the morning to another sunny day. Again.
Even our cats are angry. Yesterday, they were fighting in a pizza box in the recycling bin. It was like a feline re-enactment from Do The Right Thing.
And it's only July. But, c'mon summer. Stop being such a bitch and drop down into the 60's for a few days and throw in some rain showers.
Stop being so mean.
Almost everyone loves you.