I have written no less than 6000 words on why summer is terrible, but despite my protests it is still +25925 degrees in June, and my hair is the shape of a puffy triangle.
So you win, summer-lovers. You did it. Everyone’s favourite season has arrived, and you’re basking in these godforsaken humidex advisories and sipping your iced coffees that get warm in under 10 minutes, and you’re happy. I’m sure you’re thrilled. This is what you wanted. It’s here. Right now. You did it.
“But Anne,” you protest. “We don’t mean summer like this! We mean nice days! And sunshine! and the kind of temperatures that mean you can work outside and lay in the grass and only need to drink six glasses of water instead of the summer-regimented 42.”
Well, too bad. This is what you wished for, blogged about, and Instagram captioned. Summer is here, you seasonal freaks, so remember that when I run up to you yelling, “NO YOU CAN’T COMPLAIN” because this is what you wanted. If I can’t complain about my car being encased in ice during the winter, you can’t complain about your shoes somehow sliding off when you’re walking down the most crowded sidewalk in Toronto. This is how it works. You stan for a season, you defend all of it. Which means that if you really love summer, you’re not allowed to complain when:
- It feels like velvet outside. Like heavy, oddly soft but also hard, velvet. Breathing through velvet: summer 2017. It sounds like a terrible movie because it would absolutely make for one.
- Your ice cream melts mid-Instagram story. Enjoy. ENJOY IT.
- Your iced coffee morphs into the temperature of the sun before you get to work. DELICIOUS. WATERY COFFEE. DRINK IT UP.
- Your hair does that thing you hate. You think I like when it’s so cold and dry out in January that no amount of dry shampoo in the world will give me volume? Nope. I hate it. I hate it so much. But I pretend that I love it, because I’m saving all my fuel up for summer. You know who gets to complain when her hair evolves into a triangle? Me. You know who gets to say “I HATE THIS” when for some reason only one side of my hair is doing anything remotely close to what I need it to do? ME. You know what you get to complain about? None of it, ever.
- Your clothes somehow become portable sweat boxes. I’m sorry you didn’t want your clothes to feel like the gymnasium hosting a high school dance, but I get to complain for us both.
- Every food tastes like garbage. Because every food DOES taste like garbage during a heatwave. All any of us want to eat is ice, and maybe an avocado encased in ice and even then, only if we’re inside a block of ice ourselves.
- You forget how hot it is after being inside an air-conditioned place all day. You know who gets to say, “UGH! I HATE THIS!”? Me. I do. I get to say it. I get to say it on my way into a car or into a house or into another air-conditioned place. And you, summer-lover, get to look at me as if to say “I know” — but you can’t say “I know” because you wished for this and bought flip-flops in February and wore shorts when it was 13 degrees in April. You know what I did? Cursed all of the above.
- You get heat stroke. JK, you can 100% complain when you get heat stroke. Heat stroke is the worst. It is the absolute worst, and the equivalent of flu season in December/January, which I was a victim of this year. I get it. There are loopholes. I got to complain when the coat I was wearing hurt my skin because my fever was so high, and you get to complain after throwing up for 14 hours. This is when you get to say “I hate summer.”
- You begin autumn shopping in July and get a little salty over not being able to wear your new clothes yet. I mean, like, hi: I know. This is what I’ve been saying since the first sunny day in March. Summer clothes are garbage. They’re terrible. They are never, ever cute. And, if they are cute, they are cute for like, 15 minutes before you’ve sweat through them so much they’re practically unwearable. Also, the best summer clothes you can wear all year long, and everybody knows this. You know what I hate? Ruffles. Which brings me to my next — and most important — point.
- You realize ruffles are the worst summer trend in the world. In the world. Honestly, just terrible. Can you imagine walking up to a person and yelling at them in ruffles? I can’t, which makes ruffles the most useless trend next to shoulder cut-outs. (What are THOSE about, by the way?) Why can’t I just wear a normal shirt? Why can’t t-shirts and tank tops just exist? Yesterday I went to the mall and my friend and I saw nothing but tops that were either bedazzled (absolutely not) or encased in ruffles (I would rather die). What if you are not a ruffles person? What if you, like me, realize a t-shirt/jean short/plaid are the ultimate summer trifecta? Why can’t I have shirts with real shoulders? What if I would rather walk into Lake Ontario than wear a tube-top-ruffled-dress?
But you know who gets to complain about this? Me. Me, and everyone else who stood by autumn and fall, and winced during the first spring heat wave. This is our territory to complain about now, here in the midst of a day that feels like 42 degrees and no less. And you can either join us, or pretend you live for that feeling of sweat somehow dripping down your calves. There is no in-between. Summer, if you can hear me? It’s on.
