Summer Time

Summertime is a great time of year. The days are long and there is never a shortage of outdoor activity. And the bright sunny days have a way of making everything seem a bit more vibrant.

Living in Maryland, I’ve gotten used to the hot and humid summer temperatures. However, it always seems to come as a surprise to most locals. The first humid ninety degree day, people will immediately start saying things like, “Damn, it’s hot! I don’t know how much of this bullshit I can take! I can’t remember the last time it was this f*ckin’ hot! Maybe Al Gore was right!” I don’t get it. Does everyone suddenly develop a twinge of Alzheimers in June? It’s always hot as balls in the summer on the east coast! Why act surprised??

I was passing an old man on the Home Depot parking lot last week. Walking by, I said, “Brutal weather, huh?” He responds, “Son, it’s hotter than two mice f*cking in a wool sock!” Now, there’s a visual!

Moving on….

Nothing represents summer better than a pair of flip-flops. The first warm days always usher in a barrage of naked toes. And although they can be somewhat liberating, I still haven’t learned how to walk in a pair of them. No matter how hard I try, I always look like I’m heading to happy hour to drink Cosmopolitans with a bunch of male hairdressers.

And if this isn’t bad enough, at least once a year, I’ll try to walk down a steep hill in my flip-flops. Of course, this can be quite painful and it usually results in me tumbling head over heels down the hill. And as luck always has it, there’s usually at least one witness who finds the whole thing extremely amusing. What? Am I the only one this ever happens to??

I don’t know what it is with Bob Marley songs in the summer. Whenever I hear one, I instinctively want to party. I could be sitting in church on a Sunday morning (work with me here), and if the organ player kicked into a spiritual version of “Buffalo Soldier”, I would buy a round for the entire congregation. I guess it’s kind of like being hypnotized. I’m really starting to think that there’s a subliminal message in Bob’s music that tells me to drink more rum.

Of course, summertime means lots of sun. And this translates into my dumb ass get severely sunburned. You see, I almost always forget to wear sunscreen. And after eight hours by the pool with Bob Marley and Captain Morgan, things tend to get a bit precarious. By sundown, my skin is the shade of steamed lobster. Then within a few days, it will blister and peel until I transform into some type of reptile. The only good thing is that it takes the focus away from my man boobs.

At some point during the summer, a trip to the beach is always likely. There’s so much fun to be had. I mean, what can be more fun than catching a wave on my boogie board and pile driving myself into four inches of water? The worst part is when a crowd gathers around my dazed ass, looks down and says, “Are you OK? That looked really bad.” I usually just lay there like a beached whale until the crowd disapates.

Another thing that drives me nuts on the beach is when some asshole decides to feed French fries to the seagulls. If one person brings a cup of fries to the beach, every seagull within in a 100 mile radius will instantly swarm. It usually ends with me swinging at them like a victim in the classic Alfred Hitchcock film. Next time, I think I’ll just kick the guy’s ass that brings the French fries!

No matter what you have in store for this summer, have an enjoyable and safe one!

KW