August, I won’t miss you. Let’s be clear — it’s you, not me. By the time you show up, I’m a cranky mess and by the time you leave, I’m beyond battered. This year you didn’t even bring monsoons. Do you know how much I look forward to those afternoon showers? And this visit even that was too much, you sticky, miserable beast.
Your older sibling September is really much sweeter. She brings cooler winds on morning runs, a sun that sets a bit quicker and birthdays for the two men in my life I adore most. (And let’s be honest, your sister October is really my favorite for entirely selfish reasons: pumpkins, a hint of autumn, the return of sleeves and socks, and a chance to dress up and eat candy by the handful.)
And so, Ms. August — I bid you, the skyrocketing air conditioning bills, fleeting makeup, running with my Camelpack, getting sick in yoga, watering the garden two times a day, excessive heat warnings and having no mojo to cook real meals all adieu. (Although apparently I have enough energy to pour plenty of whine with my cheese.)
Okay, okay. There was some good:
August, this doesn’t let you off the hook. Perhaps one day, when I have a bbq and a pool and a family to enjoy the evenings outdoors with, I’ll reconsider. In the meantime? I’m happy to see you packing your bags. Feel free to leave some rain before you go.
~K