Summer, you sexy, sweaty temptress… you’re going to leave me, aren’t you? You told me that we’re good, that you’d stick around for a long while, and I was stoked. Remember when you locked the school doors at the end of June exclaiming, “That’s the end of that!”, and we all cheered loudly? That was a great day. But suddenly you started lighting off fireworks in the middle of our street, screaming, “America!”. That’s when I started to wonder if you were in a hurry to get on with life. Two weeks ago I overheard you talking to Karen about ending summer camp. You just started! And why are you confiding in Karen? Now I see you brought your suitcase down from the attic, and you left me a “Dear Liz” letter on the fire place mantel.
Don’t tell me… you’re a fan of those crappy pumpkin lattes for jerks, aren’t you? Yeah, thought so.
Well Summer, I’ve got news for you. You’re not going anywhere. I’m going to make summer pies well into September. Maybe even October. What’s that you say? Summer fruit won’t be in season much longer? The jokes on you, lady! I’m making a S’mores Pie every week until Christmas. And then I’m going to start right back up again on January 2nd, SO PUT THAT SUITCASE DOWN.
Thank you.
Okay, let’s do it.