It may not technically be summer according to the calendar but it’s summer in my book when my vanity succumbs to my survival instincts and I actually don short shorts and a tank top to go out in public. Throw your outdoor thermometers away. The Weather Channel should just stand outside my house and post weather forecasts completely based on the amount of my flesh I am exposing to Southern air. They could call it the “Flesh Tracker”. No costly satellites needed. Jim Cantore can retire to Florida and call his shit done.
Let me count the ways I have always hated summer.
I hate the temps. If you’re in the South, you also know what humidity that takes your breath away feels like. It doesn’t get much better when I go back home to Texas in late July. A couple years ago, my friend “Fantasia” threatened to take my native Texan card away if I complained about the temps one more time. In my defense, a whole bottle of hand sanitizer exploded in my car. EXPLODED. If I would have been in the vehicle when the bottle exploded, I could have been killed or even worse. It was considered a “cool front” that year if temps got below 114 degrees. I have located the mouth of hell and it is in or around North Texas.
I hate the fashions, especially when I have “more to love” than usual and I’m really lovable this summer. I hate trying on swimsuits so much that I skipped it altogether, played swimsuit routlette and ordered online this year. This is one of the suits I bought:
The ad claims this suit will make you “suddenly slim” so I completely ignored the Law of Horizontal Stripes, figuring it wouldn’t apply to my suddenly slim ass. I ended up just looking like the damned Hamburglar.
Now on a personal vendetta against the Law of Horizontal Stripes, this is the second suit I ordered:
It’s like Barney and the Hamburglar had a one night stand and this came out nine months later. Before anyone asks, and I know they will, Barney was definitely the power bottom in that arrangement. Hamburglar has done hard time and is through taking that shit.
I hate summer because no matter how much time I spend on my makeup, an hour later I look like a contestant from RuPaul’s Drag Race who got his/her ass kicked by that coffee can full of bacon grease my Granny used to keep on the back of her stove. Not a cute look, y’all.
I hate summer because I have a problem with swimming pools, aside from the obvious swimsuit debacle. I can’t enter a public pool without desperately wanting to test the water for urine or even worse things. I hate the toddlers at the local pool who smirk at me because they can swim better than I can. One day, I’ll catch them when they’re not wearing their Disney arm floaties and it will be ON.
Before I send summer to therapy, I’ll attempt to find something positive about it.
I love the time off with the kids and the lazy schedule we strictly adhere to. I’m usually at my fittest in the summer because we grill a lot and I’m more disciplined with my diet and exercise because I’m going home to see family and friends. That’s another perk of summer, going back to Texas with the kids and seeing those same family and friends. I love a really ice cold beer and summer was made for that. I love Sonic Route 44 diet green iced teas. I love summer action movies. I love my summer playlist on Spotify, which I created last year and titled “Summer: Let’s Do This, Fucker”. I love knowing that on the other side of summer is the reward of fall, football, Halloween, cozy sweaters, knee high boots and mossy green eyeshadow.
Okay, fine. Let’s hug it out, summer. You’re not that bad after all, you sneaky SOB.
Let me know in the comments if and why you hate summer as much as I do. Have a good week, y’all. I’m down 8.2 pounds! Woo hoo!