by Surly Sally
I'm Surly Sally, I'm middle-aged, and I fucking hate summer. I'm not sorry to see it fade into fall... good riddance heat riddled days! Here are the six reasons I hate summer:
1. It's hot and I'm hot, in a Maximum Middle Age hot, not Maxim kinda hot way. Before peri-menopause I was one of those delicate flowers who was always cold. I slept in socks every night, had a personal space heater, and wore throw blankets like Eliza Bennett's dad in the Pride & Prejudice mini series. No more! I wake up in soaking wet PJs from neck sweat. NECK SWEAT — it's a thing now.
2. I am fat and it is hot, and in middle age my upper-arms suddenly became the reincarnation of my grandmother's. My sisters and I used to call them "bye-bye arms" because they swayed in the breeze every summer when Grandma waved us goodbye from her driveway as we returned home to start school. Thank you Karma, I am now the proud owner of bye-bye arms. Summer styles are not my friend, and while I'm trying to make friends with my middle-aged body, it doesn't help that it's not comfortable to expose my bare arms or that sleeves are suddenly tight.
3. I'm still fat and it's still hot — seriously, my body could have been the Trump statue model but with female genitals, much less lush and gray pubes, bigger boobs, and a prettier face. I still got my pretty face, thank heaven! Ridicule aside, see all the folds on that statue? Yep, they get sweaty and sometimes a smelly rash forms. My under-boob sweat could replenish my garden's drip system. I have a rash on my groin and have abandoned all hope of underwear. Underwear have become nothing more than a maxi-pad sling for days when my irregular period makes an appearance and I'm not willing to risk yet another yeast infection from heat + tampons.
Read more: An Ode To The Mall, Where I Spent All MY Babysitting Money
4. This fucking election. I'm moody, I'm tired, and I don't even have cable or network TV. Can someone wake me up in November — or don't...
5. Seasonal affective disorder! Yes, 10 percent of we S.A.D. depressives — seriously S.A.D.? — spiral in the summer. Feeling suicidal in the summer is so anti-establishment, and it feels even worse when you feel fat, and hot, and judged... go on and judge Surly Sally for being middle-aged and fat. Why not, we're making America great again one jab at a time.
6. I'm bitter that my kids and husband get summers off. (He's a teacher, they're kids.) I've had a full-time job every summer since I was 15 and every other season since I was 17, and I need a fucking vacation. I am the patron to three people's endless summers, and no I'm not gracious about it, but don't tell them! It might be the heat getting to me.
Smell you later summer, my fat arms are swaying as I bid you good riddance!
Surly Sally is a middle-aged married mother who is overworked, over-educated, and underwhelmed by her American life. You can send her your praise, veiled threats, etc. at firstname.lastname@example.org. Anything you send her will probably be paraded online for the amusement of other middle-aged people.