Broke
Wife, Big City
Some
like it not
By Aprill Brandon
I
know what I'm about to say isn't going to be
very popular. But hey, you know what? Abraham Lincoln wasn't
universally
appreciated for his views in his lifetime either.
(Although,
granted, in the end it didn't turn
out too well for him. However, anyone wishing to assassinate me needs
to get in
line behind my ex-boyfriends, my ninth-grade English teacher, Kim
Kardashian,
those Jehovah Witnesses that came to my door last week, Khloe
Kardashian,
Octomom, my former basketball coach, pretty much the rest of the
Kardashians
and the entire country of Amsterdam).
OK.
Here goes...
I
am not a fan of summer.
Oh,
screw it. Enough sugarcoating. I downright
hate summer. Yeah. Hate. There. I said it.
At
certain points, I even loathe it. And as for
August? Well, I want to sew one of its orifices to another month's
orifice
(preferably July's) and make them crawl around and do stuff and junk
and other
mean, evil things. (Confession: I never actually saw "The Human
Centipede").
And
yes, I am well aware that this makes me the
cheese who stood alone and that I might be the only person ever to list
summer
as my least favorite season. But contrary to the unproportionally angry
responses I received on Facebook when I deigned to insult this
oh-so-holy
season, it is not illegal to hate summer.
Yet,
when you dare to say this out loud, people
act like you just punched a baby in the face. And not one of those ugly
babies
that no one cares about. One of the super cute ones.
It's
like being a vegetarian in the South. Or a
Republican in Portland. Or a woman in Utah. You constantly have to
defend your
reasoning for daring to be this way.
But
to that I say, why does everyone love
summer anyway? The major holidays-- Memorial Day, Fourth of July, Labor
Day--
are only fun if you have a boat or are good friends with someone who
owns a
boat. The rest of us landlubbers just get to look forward to sweating
onto our
plate of charred meat, sweating out all the beer we worked so hard to
chug and
trying to prevent our pets from committing suicide in response to the
ceaseless
BOOM-BOOMs going on all around them.
And
sure, summer is great when you're young and
when apparently based only on the merit of your immaturity and acne,
you earn
the right to have those three months off. But once that stops, what's
left? The
same stresses you have to deal with in your daily life during all the
other
seasons, only now with more BO that you pretend not to smell on other
people or
yourself.
Not
to mention the mosquitos. The tiny, tiny
unforgiving summer wardrobe. The trying to maintain the delicate
balance
between not getting skin cancer and not having the skin tone of a
corpse. The
constant need to shave my man-hairy legs. And seeing people wearing
Crocs
unironically.
And
so, I maintain my stance. I hate summer.
Now,
if you'll excuse me, I have to go scythe
off my leg hair and put on 12 more pounds of deodorant.
Can’t
get enough of Aprill? Can’t wait until
next week?
Check
out her website at http://aprillbrandon.com/
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