I’ve hated summer. I hate summer. I will hate summer again, God willing. I burn easily. Then I freckle more. Then I have scary, unwanted moles on my body. If we didn’t need the sun to live, I’d wish it banished from the universe. It’s May 8th, and the high today is 87. That shouldn’t be allowed. It’s still spring. If spring is this hot, will I sizzle on the sidewalk like an egg when summer ACTUALLY arrives?
If I was a bear, summer would be when I decided to hibernate. I would relish the fall, winter, and spring, and sleep away the unbearable heat. In fact, in summer, I become a bear. I’m grouchy. I growl. I grumble.
Until I see the first fall leaf change from green to crimson, such is my life. It always has been and always will be.
I suppose I could embrace the waterparks, popsicles, and booty shorts, but I don’t think I can get to that point since I’ve had this attitude about summer for all of my 34 years. Any of you people that bask in the blazing heat and love it, you need a padded cell. Seriously.