I wait all year to welcome the long, carefree days of summer and once the season arrives it seems to pass through town as quickly as that charming, mulleted carnie I once fell for in my youth. To summer I say the same thing I did to that wandering love whose teeth were as crooked as his scruples: Oh darling, if only we had more time.
I realize two things: I’m lucky to have an apartment and a fan and a portable air conditioner that sits beside our bed and helps cool the room at night. (Is that more than two things?) Despite these fortunes, our apartment feels like the inside of a Neapolitan pizza oven, making me the metaphorical overcooked Margherita pie.
We mope around the apartment, cranky from being sticky and dehydrated. “It’s toooooo hhhhot,” we whine, the heat making our speech slow and slurred, like Will Farrell’s in Old School after he shoots himself in the jugular with a horse tranquilizer.
But I don’t want to spend the next month lamenting the heat and humidity because, as my musical idol, Paul Simon, might say, summer is slip slidin’ away. This is what I live for! Weekends by a lake with friends, the seemingly endless hours of daylight, juicy cherries and other beautiful produce, waking up with the sun and bronzed skin and bug bites and ice cream trucks.
Please excuse me while I go seize this gorgeous summer day. Because before we know it, we’ll be back to scarves and mittens and slush in the streets.