07/28/2025
I hate summer with an all encompassing passion. While I do enjoy the sun during the spring time, I dislike walking around feeling like a goddamn rotisserie chicken. My b***s have created their own sweat stream. And now that sweat has sweat.
Warm weather makes me feel claustrophobic and trapped. Stepping outside on a hot, humid day is like stepping into an invisible straitjacket—there’s only so much I can do to escape it.
I am pale. I can never achieve the “sun kissed tan” during the summer. Either I look like pale as a co**se or I turn red like a lobster within ten minutes of being outside. Nothing in-between.
Even swapping out my leggings for shorts sends me into a panic, especially when I remember that walking + wearing shorts = thigh-chafing (the chub rub, the “I-caused-so-much-friction-between-my-legs-that-I-could-start-a-fire” pain) so bad, I have to do the Pregnant Lady Waddle just to get some relief. And when I do wear a dress, I have to wear Spanx because I don’t want to start a fire by my crotch due to my thunder thighs.
While I spend each day of summer in a constant state of panicky, strung-out dampness, my friends and family spend theirs frolicking in the sun, happy and relaxed and incredibly confused by my choice to hide away at home with the A/C cranked and crocheting. I’m okay with it. My season is coming. Fall is approaching!