Tagged: summer

Dear Summer, Leaf Me Alone

It’s October 7, and I’ve decided I’ve officially had enough of the humid hellscape that is South Carolina for 2017. Before moving to the South, summer was my favorite season, and nothing brought me more joy than beach trips and the smell of saltwater in my hair. That’s the romanticized version of life here. The reality is black widow spiders hiding beneath your garbage can (fiancé killed one today while I screamed from the hall bathroom) and eternal boob sweat. My friends back North have been in full-swing fall mode for weeks now, complete with sweater dresses and seasonal gourd decorations and pumpkin spice everything. And while I’m not the biggest PSL enthusiast (or coffee drinker, really), I decided this morning that it’s About Damn Time I get that autumn feeling rolling in my apartment.

Step one was strategic purchase of “Campfire Donut” candle from Bath and Body Works, because without the fall smell, getting in the mood is nearly impossible. Before purchasing said candle, I sniffed every single one on the front display table and had a very validating conversation with the store employee about the heat, which was a first for BBW. She smiled and agreed politely, even though I’m pretty sure she was internally telling me to go the fuck back to Pennsylvania and leave her alone if that’s how I felt about it. I’ve been burning the candle for about three hours and my bedroom smells like dessert and now I’m just hungry, which doesn’t exactly feel like a win.

Step two was taking down my winter clothes from storage and digging out my favorite oversized lumberjack flannel. I paired the flannel with leggings and fuzzy socks, and I even took it a step further and wriggled underneath my fleece blanket. Upon witnessing my fashion/lifestyle choice, Josh (fiancé) came in and pointedly asked me how I wasn’t sweating my balls off. If I’m gonna be honest, the blanket is probably overkill and I’m slowly turning into a rotisserie chicken, but pride is a powerful motivator, my friends. It’s like that scene in Bridesmaids where she won’t admit the restaurant gave everyone food poisoning and forces herself to eat a Jordan Almond with sweat pouring off her face. The flannel’s not going anywhere, even if that means I have to take a second shower today.

The cherry on top of my trifecta of denial is the pumpkin beer I’m about to leave the apartment to obtain. No one can convince me this is a bad idea in any way.

Does anyone else experience fall FOMO, or am I the only one feeling sheer desperation for changing leaves and a corn maze?! Aaaahhhhh.