Dear Summer, We Need To Talk

Written by Lauren Loftus Category: Culture Issue: September 2016
Group Free

sunset arizona smallDear Summer,

It's not you, it's us.

You were really, really hot, we'll admit, perhaps more so than any summer we can remember. And sure, you had your perks – we'll miss the lighter traffic on our morning commutes, and the weekend escapes to cool, breezy hikes up north were downright pleasant, and, of course, the heavily-discounted deals on local resort staycations made us feel like high rollers. But no amount of trips to AC-blasted grocery stores or $11 poolside piña coladas or reclining seat movie theaters could truly make us compatible (besides, your blockbusters this year stunk).

OK, fine. It is you. You're clingy and persistent; overbearing and stifling. We always had to do what you wanted. Did you ever consider that sometimes we didn't feel like hibernating inside just to maintain a normal body temperature? Netflix and chill took on a new, very un-sexy meaning with you.

The signs are all around; it's time for you to move out so we can make space for something new (and cooler and mysterious and way more fun). What are these signs, you ask?

1. Pool water has dipped below bathwater temps. Bye bye bikini.
2. Seemingly overnight, pumpkin spice has infiltrated Starbucks and local coffee shops alike. Same goes for pumpkin bread, thick and spicy pumpkin porters and pumpkin & chili festivals. Not really a summer flavor, don't you agree?
3. Speaking of festivals, they're everywhere. You can't throw a fallen leaf in this town without hitting a “fest” of some kind – Oktoberfest, Chile Fest, Greek Fest, Dia de los Muertes, Tour de Fat...You were too hot for outdoor biergartens. No one likes warm beer.
4. It's 95 degrees out. Break out the sweaters and boots! And, oh, the scarves – they're absolutely everywhere (and on sale in the bargain bins next to half-off school supplies).
5. Sunsets – they might be earlier but damn if all these clouds don't make 'em magnificent. Also, apt because the sun is setting on our time together.

So, sweet summer, the writing is on the wall. Please don't cry – speaking of, please take your monsoons and haboobs with you – we're ready to finally get out there and mingle...hopefully over the many happy hours on twinkle-lit, fire pit-dotted patios we ditched when you first reared your sunny head. As the Bard once said, your light is fading. Adieu, adieu, adieu.


The People of Phoenix