You and I have known each for quite a long time. I'll be the first to admit that we've had our ups and downs but in general, I really try to like you. I mean, it's nice to actually see the sun when I go to work in the morning AND when I go home. And, between you and I, as much as I love my gigantic sleeping-bag-puffer-coat, it's really not all the flattering.
More or less what I look like in my puffy coat, except that it's black. And I know nothing about tires.
Fuck this. I was trying to be nice but... no, I just can't do it. Jesus crispies Summer, I really can't stand you.
You were fine when you showed up when you were supposed to but the past few years, you've just shown up here like you’re the boss, gave Spring the boot, and then refused to leave for, like, months.
I like Spring, Summer. I don't like you. Spring is nice and sometimes it's warm and sometimes it's not. But you? You're hotter than the inner circles of hell and you make my ass sweat. Even worse, you make other people's fucking everything sweat. Want to know how much I enjoy standing in a crowded subway with my nose an inch away from some dude's sweaty armpit?
Also, NEVER Google image search "sniffing armpit". EVER. You're welcome.
About as much as I like having explosive diarrhea in public, Summer. If you bottled the stench of BO on public transportation, you could probably market that shit as chemical warfare.
I know, I know. I'm spoiled. Some people have to deal with you twelve months out of the year. Some people never deal with you at all and probably freeze their tits off year-round. I clearly have First World Problems. I'll donate to charity tomorrow to make up for my whining tonight. But for now, it's nine o'clock at night and I still have a rash that I got walking to the train station on my inner thighs. Two hours ago.
First World Problems are just SO cruel...
Seriously, Summer, the inner-chubby-thigh-fire-thing should not be starting this soon. I literally just tucked away my last pair of tights until Winter comes back (FYI, I do not despise Winter nearly as much as you and she's pretty much an angry cold bitch) and already I have to do that waddling walk thing that I do so my sweaty thighs don’t touch and burst into flames.
And let’s not forget another apparently integral part of summer that I’ve somehow managed to avoid for the past decade up until now. Bathing suits. Nothing is more devastating to an ego than bathing suit shopping. I’ve tried on bathing suits that make me look like a sausage or like I’m wearing a diaper or that I’m just a straight up pasty whale on two legs who got tangled in some spandex. It’s bad enough that people shield their eyes from the reflection of the sun off my skin, now all bathing suit bottoms make me look like I had a poop accident. All because my ass immediately migrated down my thighs the hot second I turned thirty.
I swear this is how I look in a bathing suit on the beach. Minus the giant cross.
Thanks for reminding me of that, Summer. You bitch.
Look, I know lots of people LOVE you. They look forward to arrival every year and spend as much time as they can basking in your sunburn-making glow. But that’s just not me. So, I’m sorry, Summer, but your early arrival will not be met with any fanfare from me. I’ll be the one with the crabby pout and swamp ass, waiting impatiently for Fall to come back around.