Tuesday, June 7, 2011

Heatstroke

Dear Summer,

I love you. Please, let me just begin by saying that I think you're legit. Like, too legit to quit. I've so enjoyed our time together over the years. We always have so much fun together-going to the beach, running around barefoot, and in general just getting into summer shenanigans. You're lovely; the sun is shining, and we have fun together. What's not to love? I love the ice cream trucks, being outside with friends, bonfires and games of soccer, dipping toes in lakes, lemonade slushies, picnics in the grass and wandering around under the warm starlight sky. This is the stuff dreams are made of.

But seriously? 102 degrees??? Is this acceptable and/or appropriate and/or called for? No. No it's not. It's not you, Summer-it's me. I just can't take the heat. Literally. This hot spell is the most demoralizing weather I've ever encountered. Hot tears would be streaming down my cheeks at the very thought of this oppressing heat.
BUT OH WAIT THEY CAN'T BECAUSE MY TEAR DUCTS WITHERED UP FROM THE HEAT AND DIED. The relentless, burning-hot sun pounds on my head like an unrelenting...ummm...let me think of an appropriate metaphor. Oh yeah. IT BEATS UPON MY HEAD LIKE A BIG GIANT BALL OF INCREDIBLY HOT GAS SHINING DIRECTLY ON MY HEAD.
Not fun.
Not fun.
In a word: misery.

I'm not trying to throw a pity-party for myself here, Summer. I'm just trying to be honest, and express how I feel about your actions. (Translation: I hate your guts right now, and until this heat spell goes away we are not on speaking terms.)

That is all I have to say at the moment. I'm disappointed, Summer, truly disappointed and sadly shocked. I didn't expect this from you. I thought you were cooler than this.

Sincere Regards,
Renée

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