So over it

I am so, so over summer.

I didn’t even spend that much time outside this summer, but here it is, mid-August, and I’m done.

Done with the heat. Done with the humidity. Done with the need to slather myself and my older son in a gallon of pasty white sunscreen every day. Done with bug spray. Done with shirts that stick to the small of my back when I venture outside just long enough to get the mail, for God’s sake. Done with not being able to touch the steering wheel of my car when it’s been sitting outside for more than about 15 minutes.

Done, done, done.

I took my kids to an outdoor birthday party this morning, and then we ran a couple of errands afterward. Is there anything less fun than schelpping young children in and out of a hot minivan? When we got home, I decreed it to be a We’re Never Leaving This House Again day. We have all finally cooled down and found a resting spot. William’s watching “Aladdin” in the family room. The baby’s napping in his crib upstairs. I’m here in my office, sneaking a few pieces of Red Vines, since William’s too engrossed in his movie to notice that his mom’s eating candy. It will take an act of Congress, maybe even an act of God, to get me outside again anytime soon. You can take away my air-conditioning when you pry it out of my cold (oh yes!) dead hands.

The funny thing is…I grew up with this kind of weather. And it didn’t really bother me. I don’t like I really started becoming frustrated with summer until I lived in the desert. There, the temperature soars above 120 degrees each summer for at least a week or two, hovering in the mid to upper hundred-teens [side note: is that a word? is there a better word?] for many more weeks. After about five minutes in that heat, you feel like a piece of beef jerky. Person jerky. You could feel your skin sizzle if you spent more than a few minutes in the direct sunlight after about the first week of June. You couldn’t feel hotter if someone pressed you to the sidewalk with a spatula. After enduring four summers’ worth, I had developed an intense dislike of hot weather.

And I guess I’ve still got it.

Hmmmm. I wonder if we have any more popsicles?

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About jenniferlarsonwrites

I'm a freelance writer and editor based in Nashville, Tennessee. I have a master's degree in journalism from the University of Maryland and a bachelor's degree in English from Rhodes College. I'm a born-and-bred Southerner who spent a few years in Southern California, a rabid baseball fan and a would-be grower of tomatoes. You can also visit me at LinkedIn or on Twitter at @JenniferLarson.
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