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I Hate Summer

It's summer. I hate summer. The only thing I like about summer is that I get to wear capri pants, sexy sandals, and show off my skin's amazing ability to tan beautifully (no spray tan here). 

Spring is much better: the weather is considerably more pleasant, no mosquitoes, and no sticky humidity.

That said, I do like that summer encourages cleanliness -- you have to shower more often, change your sheets more frequently, and exfoliate more. And one thing I love to do is to shower. Give me some Origin's Pomegranate Wash and True Grit exfoliating scrub and I'm in heaven.

My last boyfriend, the one whose quirkiness and eccentricity will make its way on the blog shortly, once asked me when I'd showered two times in one day: "What are you trying to clean?" He asked it in such a clinical, let-me-analyze-you way, that I felt weird showering too often around him. Clearly, any man coming between my beloved suds and me has to go. It took me a year to dump him, but when he left I showered two times that day and it felt like God was in each sud.

Back to summer. I hate it.

I hate humidity and how it antagonizes my hair. I hate mosquitoes and gnats and other annoying unidentifiable alated creatures that fly to every light source. I hate that I have to slather on repellent just to go for a walk. I hate that my perfume could possibly expose me to West Nile and anaphylactic shock from wasps and bees. I hate that my ceramic iron and a dab of Rene Furterer's Anti-Frizz Gel doesn't keep my hair straight like it does during the other three seasons.

I hate summer.

I hate that I have to go to work in the summer, and that I have to do it now.
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