I'm so over you.
Maybe not physically. No -- definitely not, physically. I still yearn for your warmth. That's what happens when you thin your blood for three months with daily infusions that are three parts India pale ale and two parts avobenzone.
That will pass, though. I'll just continue to compensate by donning socks every waking moment, just as I have done this first post-Labor Day week. It's the first time I've had to do that since June. JUNE! Even though those leather sandals I bought this spring still have a good couple weeks of tread left, I'm willing to send them on a premature permanent vacation.
Speaking of near-death experiences ...
The minivan is in an annual state of seasonal disaster that's even worse than usual, thanks to you. Your enormous tropical disturbances and steamy jet stream waters last month sent us packing two days and an entire case of beer early from the Outer Banks of North Carolina. Two adrenaline-stoked adults, two exhausted children and one confused Labrador retriever speeding off a barrier island at the ungodly August hour of 5 a.m. Then, 10 hours later, we arrive back at our Connecticut home only to discover, via an iPhone app, that the little dotted line projecting Hurricane Irene's eye shows her passing all of two miles from our house.
That was the last straw. For every pleasant yin you brought a much darker yang, my former friend.
Those picturesque afternoons and evenings on the back deck, sharing a cocktail or bite with family and neighbors? It was a sneak attack on my arteries and belly. You and your savory grilled meats, aromatic cheeses and sweet, sweet mojitos. I'm feeling my bad cholesterol level rising at the thought of that misbehavior you encouraged. My wife and son aren't happy about the golf-ball size welts your little winged terrorists left on their legs and arms, either.
The free tickets fate handed us to experience the many rides at that amusement park? They came with intolerable summer road repair standstills on I-84 and almost equally long waits inside. As for your other promised entertainments, those overpriced, underwritten 3-D family movies you pumped out every weekend ... promises not kept, ex-pal o’ mine.
The weeks of relaxation at home while our tween did sleepaway camp upstate? Ended early in an infected big toe and a nasty infestation of head lice. Sure, my thinning locks escaped the little critters, but just who do you think had to delouse the rest of the clan for an hour or so every day? For two weeks straight!
Summer, I'm going to hold a grudge against for you for some time.
At least until it stops raining.
And I get around to finally shoveling out the minivan. That's when I'm sure I'll start finding all those unintentional souvenirs you left behind.
The crumpled parking passes to the minor league baseball games.
The seemingly infinite grains of sand from along Long Island Sound and the Atlantic Ocean.
The X-ed out sheets from the many rounds of travel bingo (how is it we never found a "bird on a wire"?).
The receipts from Gopher Ice Cream and Rita's Ice.
The collection of tiny pencils from golf courses both big and miniature.
Ghostly zinc oxide fingerprints from children and their pals.
All right, Summer, you had your moments.
Same time, next year … right?