Chilly weather, you are my gift. You have never been taken for granted. You have always been a welcome, welcome friend at my door. You started to get a little crazy in February and March - at one point my bones actually ached - but I never felt anger towards you. I trudged through your side effects of snow and wind with a steady calm, knowing anything you had to offer simply could not compare to the cruelty of your counterpart, Hot weather.
Hot weather, I despise you. As spring comes to a close, I get a lump in my throat knowing the days of jacket wearing and modesty are coming to a rapid close. Soon, appropriate sweaters and jeans will be replaced with "shorts" and "shirts" that instigate conversations of where babies come from. Who needs doctor's office diagrams when I can see your fallopian tubes on my morning commute? Get a grip. Soon my nights of peaceful slumber are replaced with restless flipping of the pillows in an effort to get a cold side only to find that, oh yeah, EVERYTHING IS HOT. NOTHING IS COLD.
Central A/C is like an incredibly pricey, magical unicorn in the world of New York City apartments and thus it does not exist in our realm of practicality. We have window units that we work hard to install at the last minute as our electric bill will then usually triple in price. I can't see the A/C in the window and not turn it on, it's a problem.
So, for every drip of sweat that falls onto my leg from an un-deoderized arm pit dangling above me on an un-airconditioned train car; for every exposed cervix I've seen on my way to the grocery store; and for every time I've put my makeup on only to watch it run down my face before I'm even finished, here is a ten song playlist that depicts my feelings towards the weather of my heart.
Hot weather, I despise you. As spring comes to a close, I get a lump in my throat knowing the days of jacket wearing and modesty are coming to a rapid close. Soon, appropriate sweaters and jeans will be replaced with "shorts" and "shirts" that instigate conversations of where babies come from. Who needs doctor's office diagrams when I can see your fallopian tubes on my morning commute? Get a grip. Soon my nights of peaceful slumber are replaced with restless flipping of the pillows in an effort to get a cold side only to find that, oh yeah, EVERYTHING IS HOT. NOTHING IS COLD.
Central A/C is like an incredibly pricey, magical unicorn in the world of New York City apartments and thus it does not exist in our realm of practicality. We have window units that we work hard to install at the last minute as our electric bill will then usually triple in price. I can't see the A/C in the window and not turn it on, it's a problem.
So, for every drip of sweat that falls onto my leg from an un-deoderized arm pit dangling above me on an un-airconditioned train car; for every exposed cervix I've seen on my way to the grocery store; and for every time I've put my makeup on only to watch it run down my face before I'm even finished, here is a ten song playlist that depicts my feelings towards the weather of my heart.
1 comment:
Only you could pay homage so eloquently!
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