Summer sucks for white girls.
Maybe not all white girls, but for this white girl Summer is a reminder that I don’t belong at the lake tubing or some beach volleyball game. Maybe I have a few unresolved issues from high school, but I’m never going to be tan, cocoa oiled, and I’m tired of Summer reminding me. She’s a bikini wearing, in the sun all day, jumping off a dock, lemonade drinking pain in the ass.
She’s everywhere. Magazines, websites, catalogues, she’s all over the place with her short shorts, long sun bleached hair and tan mile long legs. She smites girls like me that are simply trying to enjoy a farmer’s market.
We know she’s there. We wear a hat and sheer long sleeves. So, I forgot my sunscreen for one measly day. She has to come along and sear me with a farmer’s tan in under thirty minutes? I will now have this unsightly lobster V for weeks. The extra freckles weren’t enough?
She might as well tell everyone I’m a pale ginger and I’m not allowed in her club. Bitch.
The other seasons love me. I’m not milk toast in their world, I’m porcelain. That’s right.
Live it up now, Summer, because winter’s coming and while I’m in my super cute jeans and boots, I hope your stupid bellybutton ring gets caught on all that scratchy wool.
That’s all from the laundry room. Up with the Sun.