Here’s the truth: I love summer.
You expected something deeper and scandalous, I know. Well, my summer truth is slightly scandalous because every summer, without fail, I engage in the most eternal complaints about the season. I complain about the heat, the mosquitoes, the heat, the heat, and the heat. And while those things are truly worth complaining about–seriously, I think I’m dating these mosquitoes, they’re that devoted to me–the simple truth is that I live for this time of year. (Third behind fall and spring, of course.)
A few reasons why. Here come the bullets:
•The long days. I can’t emphasize my love affair with summer’s long days. In between slapping away the efforts of my greedy mosquito boyfriends, I tend to sit outside with a dreamy smile on my face, gazing at the bright-at-9pm atmosphere.
•My inner child. Growing up, summers meant field trips to the local library with my Sissy; spending endless days lounging around the air-conditioned house reading said books; acting like fools with the rest of my crazy sibs; popsicles; more popsicles; family trips; laughter. I can’t help but return to those sweet times in my mind and memory when summer arrives.
•My grown up, adult self. Yeah, I have to drive. And there’s nothing sweeter than mostly traffic-free morning commutes without school buses and all the kiddies on the roads. Just saying. You know you love it, too.
•The beach/traveling/vacations. Enough said, huh? Summer was made for those things, and I try to take advantage of all of them this time of year.
So one wonders why I spend more time complaining about summer instead of talking about how much I love it? Consistency. I’m all about consistency.
What’s your favorite season and why?