Open Letter to NY Summer

Dear Summertime (if that's what you want to call yourself),
Dude! What was that? Seriously.....that's all you've got? A handful of 90 degree days followed by buckets and buckets and buckets of rain? Come on....the humidity didn't even break 75%. Surely that cannot be all she wrote in terms of summertime. That was more like Spring. Wimpy.

Here are my concerns: This morning, I saw a street sweeper sucking up a pile of leaves. I saw people raking....piles of leaves. I saw Halloween candy at the grocery store. We booked our Christmas airfare. I debated wearing a cardigan this morning. My NY Magazine for this week covered all the fall activities in the city. And last week's issue was all about fall fashion. My Southern Living magazine is starting to feature recipes using butternut squash and 50 different ways to cook with apples. I'm on high alert here as you can imagine.

Fall is my all time favorite season (perhaps because Fall exists only my imagination...I've never lived anywhere besides Huntsville that actually, technically, had an Autumn), however this year it is bittersweet because now I am enlightened. I know what comes next. It's like not wanting to watch Old Yeller even though you know it's a good story because you also know what happens to Old Yeller in the end. He FREEZES TO DEATH. Well, not exactly, but same difference. Even my excitement over the opportunity to wear cute boots (I want flat boots past the knee this year, according to NY Mag) and decorate with all my favorite colors isn't enough to get rid of that nagging "OMG" feeling that reminds me that soon I will be wearing different, less attractive boots and that God-awful coat that smells like the subway no matter how many times I Febreeze it and take it to the dry cleaners.

So Summer, come on. Don't be a prude. Let it all hang out sister. Give us everything you've got because all too soon I will be writing letters apologizing for my demands and begging you to come back to us.

Double hugs, double kiss,
L.