On occasion I stumble across an article and I find myself thinking the exact same thing as the author, but I struggle with expressing it as well as he or she has.
This article was in the Atlanta Journal a couple of weeks ago and I have been dying to share it because I just couldn’t have said it any better myself; however, I did not grow up in California and I may not feel quite as strongly about autumn, but the article sure gave me a good laugh.
Here is the article in its entirety:
I’LL SAY WHAT FEW WILL ADMIT: I REALLY DO NO LIKE AUTUMN
Might as well out myself now.
What I’m about to confess is totally politically incorrect, against popular thinking, and gasp, even prejudiced.
I don’t like fall. Or autumn. Or whatever you want to call it.
I don’t like it.
You, who are giddy about chillier temperatures, start of football, changing leaves.
You, who get goosies just thinking about putting on that first turtleneck.
You, who feel like slipping into boots instead of flip flops is like reuniting with an old friend.
Uh, yeah. I’m not one of you.
I will admit there is something to look forward to in the fall. Making my grandmother’s sweet potato casserole at Thanksgiving.
Okay. I’m done.
Here’s the deal: you simply lose me at chillier temperatures.
I am in full fledged love with warm summer days.
Often in July, I’ll hear the lead story on news, “The city swelters through another blistering heat wave!”
This is always news to me, because while the rest of the town is apparently melting a communal hot flash.
I just think what a wonderful day it was.
Warm summer nights are even better.
I grew up in California, where even the hottest day leads to a marine coolness coming on shore at night and the necessary sweatshirt.
Where I live now, it can easily stay in the 80s well into the evening.
Tank tops under a full moon.
That’s my kind of high fashion.
So while members of my own family get giddy with the changing seasons and oncoming cooler temps, I start to feel a slight panic attack.
Why don’t you, Fall Lover, realize that a dip into the low 60s is simply a gateway drug to what’s coming?
Snow, Ice and short dark days. Ugh.
It’s enough to make me want to burrow in my flannel jammies, sheepskin slippers, down comforter and electric blanket.
I am prejudiced against certain season.
I rank them.
Summer is my best friend because heat is like a big hug.
Spring is a distance second. Beautiful, hopeful as to what’s coming, but can be 0h-so-fickle and tricky.
Fall, see above.
Winter, Cruel, Unforgiving winter. I am of the belief that snow is something you should visit, not live in.
And by visit, I mean like for a delightful ski weekend with a gorgeous Swiss ski instructor named “Sven.”
Judge me if you will, Dear Reader.
Dis-invite my cold, cranky fall self from your Thanksgiving Dinner.
But, know what I know.
That you, yourself, have your own season biases, as well.
And because you are so wonderful about staying in touch with me, I can see my inbox flooding right now with your seasonal rankings.
I’ll read them as soon as my heated keyboard and super sonic space heather thaw my frozen fingers.
That may have been the longest blog post ever and I didn’t even write it, but here’s to you Daryn Kagan.