Your Bike: True, there is nothing so lovely as the wind through your hair as you pedal along on your beach cruiser on a summer’s afternoon… that is, until you’ve been doing it for more than 20 minutes. Bike seats are worse than a drunkenly horny boyfriend, and then never roll over and pass out like said boyfriend. As much as sitting in commuter traffic sucks, you can at least say it doesn’t resemble mild sexual assault.
The Beach: Everyone loves the beach… in theory. It’s the sexy symbol of freedom and fun. In reality, it’s just sand… everywhere… in your sandwich, clogging up your lotion, ruining your cell, and finding its way into every orifice. So you take a dip in the water — which is paralyzingly cold — and now you have that nasty salt residue AND sand on you. (Though your hair inexplicably looks cuter.) In the end, the beach, like that hot but stupid guy you dated, is best admired in pictures.
Swimwear: Your love affair with the cute tankini lasted about a week, when you were still in a delirious euphoria caused by beach body juice cleanse semi-starvation. Now the pressure of being half-naked all the time is wearing on you, and after days of jicama and cucumber water, all you really want is to faceplant into a big bowl of carbs. Don’t worry, fall is coming soon, and with it, glorious sweater season.
The Sun: Ah, giver of life, Vitamin D and tan lines! But you can definitely get too much of this good thing: the sun has been known to betray us, castrating our outdoor exercise plans with broiling heat, causing dehydration and sunstroke, and worst of all, burning us to a lobster-red crisp, after which we are forced into convalescence before emerging a peely mess. Just forget about it if you drive a piece of shit car like me, with a broken air conditioner. Sans climatiseur, you can’t wait for change in seasons. (Though in LA, October gets to be in the high 90s on the regular. AUTUMNAL FAIL.)
Malaise: It’s good to unwind, but sometimes a little too much maxin’ and relaxin’ can lead to summer malaise. Those dead weeks where nothing’s going on and nothing new is on TV can lead to existential angst. (Unless you smoke a lot of weed, then you’re probably fine.) It’s like when you were in school, and realized by August 1 that half your brain had died while you were boogie boarding for the last eight weeks.
So, goodbye summer fling… we need to see other seasons. I’m sure we can pick up where we left off next year.