After several days of trying so hard to stay busy that I hadn’t even signed in here, I did so last night and started reading my subscriptions. I was a bit shocked… Everyone appears to hate summer. It’s hot and sticky, which leads to people being moody. It’s finally warming up – after an arduous winter (which is partly why I’m shocked that everyone wasn’t doing cart wheels) – and couples are coming out to go for strolls and…there by reminding the single people that they’re, well, single. Let’s just skip it and go straight to the autumn colors and cooler weather, shall we?
I don’t want to though; I object. I love hot warm nights spent laying in the cool grass, listening to crickets sing. Tall glasses of ice filled drinks. Icy popsicles and and juicy watermelon slices dripping off of elbows and onto wooden picnic benches. Neon nail polishes peeking out of sandals. Warm breezes caressing bare legs under short skirts. Air so warm and thick like a flannel blanket that it feels as though it might be just as flammable.
There’s always been something about it that struck me as though it would be a great time to fall in love. Like making out under the Independence Day fireworks could be life changing. Like sharing a beach towel and Italian ice could bond two hearts together forever. Like that flannel air could be a catalyst for a fall filled with snuggles under cozy blankets, in your summer romance’s arms. Then Eskimo kisses in crowded shopping malls as winter sweeps in. Followed by nesting together in the spring and a life time of happiness.
It isn’t something I’ve experienced (nor am I likely to), but the idea still makes me weak in the knees and hopeful for the romances of others. Someone should get to experience that blossom of love and life that contradicts the hot, suffocating air around us from June through August and into September.
So, I vote we keep summer around. I say we steal whatever joys we can from it; laying in the grass for the sound of the crickets, buying a watermelon even if we’re (I’m) the only person in the house who will enjoy it, and wearing as many skirts that allow the warm air to come into contact with tan flesh as possible. Maybe live a bit vicariously through the people who do get summer romances…or start one of our own. Whadda ya say? You, me, a beach towel and an Italian ice? 😉