I hate people who loooove summer. The only thing I hate more than people who love summer is summer itself. Here are 7 reasons why:
“Table for two? Would you like to sit outside?” This whole fascination with eating outside I do not understand. We have these structures now that keep the sun off you and keep the bugs out of your food. It’s a no-brainer, yet there are the people who just looove to sit outside, even if it is on a dirty, narrow sidewalk with traffic cruising by. “Yes, I’ll have the pasta primavera with a side of exhaust.” Don’t even get me started on picnics.
You just took a shower, and already you are sweating again. It is an endless cycle. Which leads me to that nasty feeling when that bead of sweat slowly rolls down your back, down your crack, only to settle sweetly with its brethren in your underpants so that by the end of the day you feel like you are wearing a wet diaper. I’m a full-grown adult. I don’t want to wear a diaper for another 40 years, minimum.
Everyone and everything smelling like a coconut? Why must every cream, spray, or lotion associated with summer have that cloying, artificial coconut scent? Why does anyone want to smell like a fruit that no one likes? Technically a coconut is a fruit, a nut, AND a seed. It doesn’t even know what it is! And coconut doesn’t even smell like coconut unless its hairy nut is hacked open. Who wants a fruit that you need to use a machete to open? Has anyone ever offered you coconut in their home? No? Well that’s because it’s gross. That’s why no one likes Mounds bars or piña coladas except Rupert Holmes and his “own lovely lady.” No wonder that song is called “Escape.”
I don’t like knowing what folks look like naked, so summer ruins this for me. I mean, once you are down to a bathing suit, the cat is pretty much out of the bag—all that’s left is to imagine a standard set of genitals, and there we have it. Don’t start telling me about your non-standard genitals—I DON’T WANT TO KNOW!
I also don’t like knowing that you have a collection of moles that make up the constellation Cassiopeia. Or that your husband has so much hair on his back it must be like making love to a rug. Or knowing that your husband — or worse yet, your wife—has a pie-shaped patch of hair on his/her lower back that looks like a gnarly slice of hair pizza. I’m also less than pleased with the world knowing that I have enough stretch marks to make it appear as if I am perpetually in motion even when standing completely still.
In the interest of keeping this brief, I’ll skip my feelings on the beach, but suffice to say it is a filthy and miserable place except at dawn and sunset.
Mosquitoes, gnats, wasps, ants—they are annoying and relentless. Oh! And some of these bugs bring terrible diseases like the West Nile Virus and Lyme disease. And thanks to Zika-carrying mosquitoes, babies are being born with reverse bobbleheads! You never hear of a terrible disease from one of the cold countries, only the hot ones. There’s no Ebola in Stockholm. If you can manage alcoholism, flu, and suicide, you are safe as a kitten in Stockholm.
Beneath the Boobs Sweat. Don’t think I need to explain further.
Always with the sunscreen because you can get cancer from the sky! I’d love to go for a swim, but first I’ve got to make sure I don’t get the cancer. All day, walking around always kind of slick and smelling like some mixture of coconut and whatever scent your deodorant is. Why the deodorant people can’t get together with the perfume people and make deodorant and sunscreen to match my perfume is beyond me.
There’s a reason hell is hot—it is basically summer down there for all of eternity! I can give 20 more reasons I hate summer, but I’ll leave it here. I’ve got to go count the days until Fall.