Yes folks, summer is upon us. And I’m living the nightmare dream.
Bikinis, cool drinks, BBQ’s, outdoor concerts, swimming pools, the ice cream truck, no school, and the yearly vacation in the trusty family truckster. Wally World here we come!
That’s what summer means to a lot of people.
But for me? Not so much.
Summer is to me like winter is to someone living in Minnesota. I dread it every year, and I swear that it seems longer Every. Single. Year. Maybe that is because of global warming. Thanks a lot, all you hairspray abusers from the 80s out there. I’m melting and it’s because of you and your need for big hair.
Having lived in Las Vegas for almost nine years, one would think I would hate summer because of the 110+ temperatures from late May until early September. Oh wait, that is why I hate summer! However, I was never very fond of summer, even long before I moved to the desert. I lived in Ohio before Vegas, and although the summer was not as long, it still kicked my ass with the heat and humidity. It really brought out the worst side of me. I was a grumpy bitch. I fretted and I mumbled. I was dripping sweat all the time. I even perspired while getting out of the shower. It was not pretty, people. My apologies for any visuals you may have conjured up that you will never be able to un-see. Consider it a gift.
Second only to the heat, mosquitos and creepy-crawly critters make me want to wrap myself up in a box and mail it to Alaska. I’m not proud to be a squeamish fraidy-cat. However, “Damn the conservationists! The world would do just fine with a lot less spiders and snakes.” They are all just sneaky little spawn of Satan!
My third reason for hating summer would be my poor hands. All summer long, I get burned touching the car door handle. You’d think I would just stop that behavior, but it’s not easy. I never seem to remember to bring along anything to put between my hands and that gaud-awful freakishly hot vehicle. It’s just not right. The car industry needs to invent a cooling mechanism for said handles that can be remotely controlled or even triggered to immediately cool down after reaching a certain temperature. I wonder if anyone has thought of that. I could invent it and go on Shark Tank and be mocked, humiliated and insulted by a panel of rich assholes. What an adventure that would be!
But I digress, as I’ve been guilty of so many times in the past. Forgive me. I didn’t have my oatmeal this morning. You might want to keep your distance today. I could blow any minute.
My fourth and final reason for hating summer is the dance I call The Thermostat Shuffle. You may not be familiar with the name, but I’ll bet you’ve experienced the dance. It requires two participants with opposing preferences for room temperature. The way it works is Dancer #1 does the sneaky slide over to the thermostat, hoping not to be noticed by Dancer #2. It is just too freaking cold in the room, and she has to make her move before morphing into a human Popsicle. She changes the thermostat setting with one smooth flick of the wrist, and then glides away, ever so graceful and pleased with herself.
Shortly thereafter, Dancer #2 begins fanning her face because of the sudden lack of coolness in the room. With stealth-like precision, she leaps from the couch, does a double-looped turn, and sashays on over to the thermostat like a sexy jewel-thief about to lift the Hope Diamond. Yes, folks, she’s done this dance before. She’s got skills. She slides the thermostat needle silently upwards with a perfectly manicured fingernail. (Wouldn’t want to leave any fingerprints) She is, after all, a professional.
As the room continues to cool, Dancer #1 takes notice and is mildly amused, knowing Dancer #2 is only flirting with her. It’s all about the dance, of course. Dancer #1 decides a few more forceful moves might be in order. So she boogies on over to Dancer #2, who is obviously enjoying her nice cool air, and shake–shake-shakes a finger in her partner’s face.
“It’s too Cold in here, honey” says Dancer #1, with a sweet but determined tone.
“No No, it’s too Hot in here, honey” says her partner, turned adversary, turned pissed-off, turned determined to win, whatever she has to do.
“We’ll just see about that, HONEY” says Dancer #1, face getting red, pulse racing.
“Okay, bring it on, HONEY” retorts her beloved Dancer #2, matching her volume, neighbors-be-damned.
Dancer #2 rises from the couch to meet her partner, toe-to-toe, eye-to-eye, stubborn streak to stubborn streak.
Then, as if a gun had gone off to signify the start of a horse race, both dancers jumped the couch and sprinted to the thermostat.
I get there first. Ha!
Oh wait, I forgot to tell you…I’m Dancer #2.
I protect the thermostat setting with my life. I even gloat a little by dancing a little jig and humming a little tune.
My partner, Dancer #1, love of my life, just smiles.
I hate it when she does that.
She walks away, knowing full well what we both know.
She’ll be back when I’m not looking, damn it all.
And the dance will begin all over again.
So you’re probably wondering if there is anything at all I like about summer. I sat down and gave it some thought. I think better sitting down. Especially with a glass of wine in my hand. So I sat down and had a glass of wine while I searched my brain for something I might like about summer. And then it hit me like a gallon jug of Boone’s Farm Tickled Pink!
In fact, I came up with two things!
Wine coolers. And watermelon. Watermelon Wine Coolers!
Bring it, Summer! I got this.
*Images from Google Images