I got a call the other day from a friend, “It’s beautiful outside! You want to go to a park or something?”
AUGH! You have no idea how much I hate good weather.
I hate weather girls. I hate weather men. They seem to think we’re all the same. I say, “Just report the fucking weather, don’t tell me whether I should like it or not! Don’t tell me I should be upset that it’s going to snow, because I’m not! Don’t tell me it’s 85 and gorgeous, because then I have to hate you.”
First of all, my definition of “good” means nothing above 50 degrees. So you can figure that if someone else thinks it’s a beautiful day then it’s probably too freaking hot for my pleasure.
You see, I am a sweatshirt afficionado. I love nothing more than to live my life wrapped in something the equivalent of a quilt or bedspread. Preferably I would even go with a down comforter. However, a hood is a necessity. I like to cover my body all the way to chin level.
I could give layering lessons to those bitches who are always complaining about how cold it is. We could solve the energy crisis by turning off the heat across the country, in malls, schools & office buildings. Wear a sweater, chica!
So why do we have a pool in our backyard? I have no idea. I do like looking at it from our bedroom window, glistening and blue, while feeling the cool air of our home, the home with all the windows closed.
Second, and I think most importantly, good weather brings about the same expectations as a holiday. People are swooning about how “great” the day is, they’re expecting something of me. They’re expecting me to be happy, to enjoy myself, to swoon with them.
Fuck that. I’m not much of a swooner, and I will never swoon over anything higher than 68 degrees, never! Why do I choose 68? Because that is a perfect setting for central air, which basically helps keep me indoors 365 days per year.
Third, I really love rain, snow, and clouds. I lived in Oregon for 6 months and nothing about the precipitation depressed me. I adored it! Give me a good cloudy day and I’ll fight to be happy. Clouds can’t keep me down! Thunder & lightning are extra excitement, a big wind storm is kick ass.
Fourth, I don’t like the “shine” of the sun. It’s a little too bright. Seriously. (SIDE NOTE: Please explain tanning insanity and the ensuing alligator skin or orange glow of self-tanner. And women purchasing monthly tanning packages for their daughters? I think there may come a day when we are notified that tanning causes brain damage.)
Fifth, I don’t particularly like the outdoors, where bugs live, where dirt lies, where it’s kind of uncomfortable unless you carry a chair with you at all times. I have very nice chairs inside my home, thank you. Actually, I even like sitting in the car, which has nice, cool leather seats.
Sixth, the expectation in good weather that we should all be taking our children somewhere, providing some particular childhood joy. Should I take her to the beach and watch for youngsters to get pulled into a riptide or out into the woods to see how many ticks we can collect in a single day? We’ve done both of those and they didn’t do much for me. Maybe swimming in the local lake, an afternoon of drinking in fecal coliform from those cute ducks.
My favorite seasons are fall, winter & spring, in that order. Summer does not even take a runner-up position. Spring depresses me because it’s too close to summer and people start screaming about how great the fucking weather is, how beautiful it is outside.
I would tell you that maybe all this is just some kind of a funk, but I’ve been feeling this way for at least 12 years now . . .