OK, Summer. I see how you play. It’s May, you know. 80+ degrees (that’s Fahrenheit for all you non-Americans who are light years ahead of us in many things). A threat of 90 by mid-week? You are not due for another month or so! People complain about Christmas getting all up in Thanksgiving’s craw (the turkey cavity?), but so far I’m the only one complaining about you snuffing out Spring.
I want my warm, not dripping-with-sweat, days! Cool breezes at night after a warm sunny day spent relaxing outside, not a swampy mess that demands everyone huddle inside near the only air conditioner in the room.
Haven’t you ever heard of arriving fashionably late? The only people this early to the party… well, starts with an ‘L’ and rhymes with cruisers.
I agree (I hear you people harping through the Interwebz) that there was soooooo much snow and cold and cancelled events this past Winter that yes, warmth is not only nice, but welcomed. But July weather now? I protest!
Summer, I can’t stop you from arriving whenever you damn well please, but I don’t have to like it. I will wear shorts because feeling like I’m going to pass out in pants is just no fun! But don’t think I’m shaving past the knee anytime soon. It’s way too early for that. (Advance apologies, peeps, for the blinding white light. That’s just my skin. Isn’t pasty “in” thanks to all those vampire shows and movies?)