Summer’s gone and I don’t blame it. I’d have left, too. What with everyone moping around complaining about the weather — ‘oh, I’m so ho-o-o-t’, ‘oh, where’s fall’, ‘oh, turn on the air conditioning’. Bitch, bitch, bitch.
What is wrong with you people? You get a perfectly delightful season of bright, beautiful mornings and lazy afternoons, sweet, gentle evenings and soft nights, and what do you do? You wish it away. Well, congratulations, it’s left. Adios. Summer’s hit the road.
In its place? Misery, and it’ll arrive by the shovelful. Life, my friends, is about to get ugly, then you’ll be sorry. Our world, you see, is preparing to call it quits, turn out the lights, and grow deathly still. Frozen in its tracks. Soon everything will be ice-coated and muffled, sort of like our ears. I hope you’re ready for the shivering and huddling, the slipping and sliding, the enduring the unendurable. Because that’s what lies ahead.
Thanks. Really. Thanks, a lot.
I just hope summer comes back, but I wouldn’t be surprised if we never hear from warm breezes or sunshine again. Not after the things you’ve said. Shame on you. Right now it’s 61 measly degrees. Last night the temperature dropped deep into the 40s. I was so cold I cranked up the electric blanket and inadvertently turned myself into a baked potato.
That’s better than a popsicle, though. Given a choice, I’ll take sweating over shivering every time. I’m serious, cold is my idea of Hell. Cold is my undoing, it’s my nemesis, my Waterloo. I’d rather be anything other than cold. The truth is, I looked forward to menopause — for the hot flashes. The joke was on me: I didn’t get them. Ha, good one, eh?
So, tell me, is this kind of weather cold enough or did you want the arctic stuff, the subzero cold? Yeah? You people are crazy.
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