It’s that time again…summer. The transition began with the bins of tee shirts, capris and flip flops being replaced with gloves, sweaters and those winter clothes that never got worn because I was apparently thinner last winter. After wondering why the hell I bought these tops, and noticed stains on those tops, I picked out which ones made it to the 2011 summer collection which are still waiting to be hung in my closet on hangers that I bought on QVC for a ridiculous amount of money. The rest either got bagged for donation, bagged for garbage, or put back in the bins in the hopes that next year I will be thinner. (or tanner....read on) The bins remain, inevitably, waiting to be returned to their dark little haven behind the door in the ceiling until my son comes to do laundry visit.
The plants on my back deck are always staring at me now, trying to remind me that I need to water them daily as I almost always forget until they are hanging over from thirst. My central air conditioning unit has not shut down since mid May and Con Ed has started sending me thank you cards. My legs and arms are covered with mosquito bites, some from hanging out on the back deck with my parched plants but most from my broken screen door. The door has been broken for almost two years, a product of an overzealous FedEx guy and a under-active husband. Whenever I threaten to call a handyman he suddenly becomes ‘handy’ and fixes something….but for some reason never the screen door. So as people come in and out the door stays a tiny bit open…just enough to let those blood sucking bastards in.
I have replaced my ‘merry wine’ color nail polish with ‘punky pink’ nail enamel. It is brighter and shinier (and more expensive) than any other nail polish I own. When I get my nails done every couple of weeks (much to the dismay of Lin, my nail girl) I do not get them polished. I have no patience to stay there and wait for them to dry, and if I do get polish I assuredly mess it up en route to my car. So punky pink will be the summer color unless one of my daughters (or more likely my son) will point out that I am not young enough to wear anything with ‘punky’ in the name. And they are probably right.
I find that during the summer months I turn into a lesbian. Well, not really, but I do find myself staring at scantily clad women or bikini babes at the pool and wonder where it all went wrong. I started out with the same amount of baby fat that they did….is there a chance I will still lose it? Is that really where my boobs are supposed to be? Where my belly button belongs? I go home and eat an apple for dinner. And then I forget how much hate wearing capris instead of shorts, and sleeves instead of sleeveless. And then I eat a Twinkie. It’s what I know. Remember the song Itsy Bitsy Teeny Weeny Yellow Polka Dot Bikini? The girl who wouldn’t come out of the water…that’s me. Except my bathing suit is black and it has a skirt. The water part is the same. Although I have found a way to navigate to the shallow end, up the steps and into my white cover-up with the mustard stain without drawing much attention. Of course there are the times when I don’t give a rats ass, and that is usually when it is 100 degrees out and the nearest lounge chair is a block away. (Eat your heart out skinny bitches, this is what you’d look like….if you ate.)
The smells of summer now surround me. It seems no matter what my neighbor barbeques it smells so much better than what I am cooking. She could be grilling an old sneaker and it still would smell better than my Omaha Steak burgers. I make franks she make burgers. I make burgers she makes steak. I make steak she makes something on a skewer. I skewer she smokes. I give up! I’ve often wanted to hop over the net fence and shake her hand in concession. But I don’t, I steal her figs.
Pretty much everyone around me has a fire pit. I guess it‘s a new thing….to sit outside in 80 something degree weather next to a roaring fire dodging ashes and smoke and melting marshmallows that we pretend are gonna actually stay on a graham cracker square without sliding off before the chocolate melts. The smell of burning wood, which normally would raise a red flag, now goes unheeded. As we sit sniffing the sweet aroma of firewood, someone’s house could be ablaze…here’s hoping their smoke alarms have good batteries.
Tanning is the best part of summer. Basking in the sun, sweaty and greasy from lotion that should have a much higher SPF, recalling the days when I had no idea what skin cancer was. The darker the tan, the thinner you get. It’s a fact. Like a little black dress, a tan takes pounds off. To date I am down about ten tan pounds….to reach goal I will need a rotisserie.
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