Fun fact: My last name is Summar, which is Scottish for “People whose surname is pronounced just like the season between spring and fall but is spelled so creatively that they are doomed to hear it mispronounced or see it misspelled for all of eternity.” Thank heavens they shortened all of that to two syllables.
Every one of my middle school and high school yearbooks is full of witticisms like, “Have a great summer, Summar!” and “Whoa… it’s your favorite season.” Generations of Summars have put up with this nonsense since the invention of the yearbook, and I accept that it is our cross to bear.
I’ve noticed a certain women’s magazine believes there’s only one season.
If you flip through a Cosmo in September, it will show you how to keep your beachy waves long after the beach is closed. December’s issue provides tips on faking a fun, sexy bronze glow through winter and taking your man on fun, sexy summer-themed dates to get through the frightening dark months ahead. In February, while you wrestle the pages through your mittens, the fashion section fills with summer’s fun, sexy new looks. When June finally arrives, it’s impossible to find a coherent headline on the cover between giant yellow and orange words: FUN SEXY SUMMER! SUN AND SEX AND SEA SHELLS! MELANOMA AND ALSO SEX!
Someone should probably let them know about the existence of autumn, winter, and spring. I’d do it, but they think I died in a horrible waxing accident and I’m loathe to correct them.
It’s summertime and it’s absurdly beautiful outside. That can only mean one thing. It’s time for my annual apologies to the universe.
I don’t know if karma is real or not, but I do know that I have Scandinavian ancestors who may or may not have been vikings. You don’t hear many good things about vikings.