I hate summer because I love summer so much. Yep, that pretty much makes NO sense whatsoever but what I mean is, I love the summer, I love everything it brings such as days at the beach, barbeques, picnics, evenings at the pub, the whole kit and kaboodle. I bloody hate it though because it means either getting bits of my body out that should never been seen by others for fear of offending them or sweating away like a big fat bushpig in non summer appropriate clothing. I refuse to show my upper arms which I would never show when they were fat and massive but now they’re like half empty sausage skins these badboys are definitely staying firmly under wraps. If pushed I’ll get my legs out but seeing as I’m the only person I know who has cellulite ON HER CALVES (thankfully though I have ankles not cankles) I like to try and avoid it where I can.
I’d love to be someone who looks effortlessly chic in summer or at the very least less like a lesbian Scout Mistress in my khaki boy style shorts, at a bare minimum I yearn to look a little bit summery. I’m not saying I want to be like Jenny from the Block scooting about in a butt flossing bikini with some rude girl wedges and badass sunglasses on, but the ability to wear a nice strappy feminine summer dress wouldn’t go amiss. The other thing that grinds my gears is how loved up everyone suddenly is when the sun comes out. Do I really want to see couples coochy wooing all over the grass outside my office, making daisy chains and (to adopt the Australian vernacular) pashing over lunch? No I bloody do not. You wouldn’t be doing it in winter so why assault me with it now…… /rant.
Of course it’s borne of envy nothing more and nothing less, I’d like a nice man to go punting with (not a euphemism) or to take on a picnic but this summer it doesn’t look meant to be. Ah well, perhaps come Christmas I’ll have someone to wear hideous matching knitted jumpers with whilst we drink egg nog by the fire.