I know, I know, summer is supposed to be this magical time full of sunshine, beach days, and tan lines. But let’s be real: it’s mostly just swamp ass, sunburns, and pretending you enjoy day drinking in 98-degree heat while your thighs become mortal enemies.
I was not built for this. I am not a “poolside with a seltzer” girlie. I’m a crunchy leaves and emotional breakdown in a cozy cardigan girlie. My heart beats to the rhythm of movie marathons about witches and oversized hoodies. I romanticize storm clouds. I thrive in overcast.
Summer? She’s that loud girl at brunch who’s always talking about how much she loves “hot yoga” and makes everything a group activity. Fall? Fall is the friend who brings you soup, hexes your ex, and lets you rot on the couch in peace.
The second July hits, I’m already lighting cinnamon candles and whispering “soon” to my collection of knit scarves. And don’t even get me started on pumpkin spice—judge all you want, but I’d sell my soul for a venti iced PSL right now.
So if you see me in August with Halloween socks and a haunted expression, mind your business. I’m manifesting October. I’m daydreaming of dead leaves and dead relationships. I’m a fall girlie through and through … and this sun-drenched nightmare can end anytime now.
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