I hate summer. Now, this is a drastically different sentiment then I was offering up just a short five months ago when I was driving home in the SNOW in MARCH in TEXAS, but I now officially, whole-heartedly and passionately hate summer. Oh, and we're currently having a cold front! High of 86 today!
Totally don't care. Still hate summer.
I went to the movies last weekend to see The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants with Lauren. Now, I do have some questions about the movie, mainly where exactly can I find someone who will just toss up frequent flier miles like they're peanuts, so I too can travel to Greece without having to spend a cent of my own money, but the entire, completely unrealistic movie (that, granted, did deepen my love for Alexis Bledel and her gorgeous hair) was overshadowed by the sweltering walk from the car to the theater, the theater to Papyrus, Papyrus back to the car.
When we stepped into Papyrus, we were met with a display table of Christmas cards. I don't know what time zone YOU'RE in, but where I live it's still August. (Miserable, hot August.)
Instead of rolling my eyes and lamenting about our society's need to rush life and shove holiday-related products down our throats before fall has even thought of beginning blah blah commercialism blah, I got all giddy BECAUSE CHRISTMAS CARDS ALLOW ME TO REMEMBER A TIME WHEN IT WAS NOT FUCK-ME-IN-THE-ASS HOT OUTSIDE.
(Hi, Mom!)
I have lived in Texas for sixteen years. I have driven around a non-air-conditioned car in the Texas summer heat. I have danced outside for twelve straight hours in the Texas summer heat. I have walked to college classes in the Texas summer heat.
I never remember hating summer as much as I do now.
I think it may be because I'm getting fat (you say pregnant, and I appreciate you, but the woman who judgmentally eyed my protruding belly in the grocery store yesterday while I was holding an Entenmann's raspberry crumb cake said otherwise). Along with fat, I'm also still exhausted and grouchy and, yes, you should still pity Mike with all the might you have. (Although I'm happy to report I have not yelled at him about houseplants since the one and only time I yelled at him about houseplants.)
I'm in that awkward, is-she-pregnant-or-just-a-big-fan-of-keg-stands? phase, where my clothes still technically fit but I feel gross in EACH AND EVERY PIECE. I have begun waddling and rolling over in bed is, well, it's interesting. I have felt very slight, very odd flutterings but in no way am I going to declare that I've felt the baby move because I'm pretty sure I've felt stronger things for the cast of The Hills.
And all of the uncomfortable end-of-first-trimester/beginning-of-second-trimester feelings are only heightened by my inability to check the mail without wanting to rest halfway because OH MY LORD, THE SUN IS KILLING ME.
All in all, I'm ready for the weather to cool, my belly to scream Cute Pregnant Woman and not Woman Who May or May Not Be Addicted to Carbs. I'm ready for this month to be behind me and for college football, pumpkin recipes, long-sleeved shirts and fall TV to begin.
I know it's wrong, to wish time away, yada yada, but I am ready to be slapped in the face with Christmas decorations everywhere I turn and to clutch my steering wheel on the way to work because not a single person in the state of Texas knows how to drive in inclement weather (unless they're visiting from Chicago).
I am over you summer. Move along.