Let the summer fun begin …

June 24, 2014

Well, it’s official: summer is here.

Not that any of us needed a reminder, the temperatures racing into the 90s so quickly the way they did, but I do want to send out a quick reminder of my own, and I can’t be more serious … enough with the complaining about the heat.

Six or seven months ago, as we were wallowing in self-pity and flash-frozen cartilage, I remember every single one of you that complained about how cold it was. You complained about the late ice and snow after the calendar rolled over to 2014, day after day, casting aspersions upon the character of Jack Frost and making those around you uncomfortable, unsure of how personally you were taking the inhospitable weather.

Ah, I remember it as if it were only yesterday, as you stood there shivering with your hands stuffed in your armpits, lips blue and something as yet unidentified frozen to your cheek … and you kept swearing when summer got here you would never complain about the heat.


Now me, I’m a sunshine baby. I was born in the dead of winter and make no bones about it, frozen or otherwise, how much I hate cold weather. I have even offered my own boys up as chattel for first class tickets to sunnier climes in my most desperate January moments, the only problem being my boys are generally lazy and eat too much and get returned to me before I can make it to the terminal. There’s always next winter and a man should never let a dream die.

The point is, I WILL complain about the cold ALL day long, but, the heat should be left alone because as in all things you can’t have it both ways. People’s memories are far too short and selective for our own good. It’s why we continually make the same stupid mistakes over and again … well at least some of us do.

Like that friend you have, the one whose relationship is a total Kardashian reality show, except it’s one you’re trapped in and can’t change the channel, the cycle repeats itself as if in syndication.

Or, here’s an even better example … childbirth. I understand to propagate the species childbirth has to happen, my momma taught me that much, but here’s where I get confused. Why would any woman in her right mind want to do that twice? Or in some cases on and on as if they can’t decide what’s causing it?

Selective and short memories have to be the logical answer, otherwise it’s just anarchy with people just saying and doing senseless things and expecting no repercussions.

This one point though is where I draw the line in the sand, preferably white beach sand with the sound of the ocean lapping at the shore, but a line nonetheless. It’s like life: if you spend all your time complaining about it, well, you’re going to miss it all, and then when you wake and there’s frost on the ground I’m going to have to listen to you all over again.

Try to remember this time, pull out some of those pictures from just a few months ago as a reminder of what you promised us all … no complaining about the heat.

Now on with summer, and take note boss, a column about summer in which I didn’t discuss bikinis … not once.