The Most Unbearable Time of the Year
I hereby declare, as of today, summer is my least favorite season.
Memorial Day weekend is the ultimate tease for someone with grade-school and college memories still fresh in their minds: the build-up to summer begins, fooling you into believing that from then until Labor Day, your life will abound with days of grilling and boozing, nights of more boozing outdoors, and mornings of sleeping in until noon, before repeating the process.
Then Tuesday morning comes along, and you realize it's all just a distant memory.
The lack of a summer vacation is not the real reason I've turned on summer. There's a much simpler reason: when it's cold, you can always add layers; yesterday, it was so hot that I wanted to take off my skin.
I broke into a sweat during a one-block walk from my gym to the subway. I refused to wait for an express train; I took whatever train came first, just to get into something air-conditioned. I made the extra effort to walk on the shady side of the street. I love this city, but I cannot stand the heat here. Just looking outside makes me hot.
And so, the countdown begins to Labor Day, when the leaves change, the temperatures drop, and I can wear something fashionable again without drenching it in sweat.
Remind me of all this when I complain about how cold it is next winter.