If I hear one more person say they love the fall, I’m going to make them bob for apples and keep their heads under water until they come to their senses.
Saying you like fall because of pretty leaves and fresh apples is—at least to me—like my mother who used to tell me when I had to get a shot from the doctor, “If you act like big girl and don’t cry, you’ll get a lollipop.”
A sharp metal needle was going to be jammed in my rear end!
And my mother thought a lollipop was going to make me feel better?
I didn’t buy that crappy reasoning then.
And I ain’t buying that kind of reasoning now.
No matter how pretty the leaves are, no matter how clear the air is, no matter how many recipes are best to make this time of year—WINTER IS COMING!
Oh, sure, a bowl of hot chicken soup is therapeutic when you’re shivering you booty off.
But I don’t want to shiver my ass off in the first place! I like my air temperature warm.
And of course the leaves are gorgeous. Of course they are! Who wouldn’t think they are?
But that reasoning is like flowers at funerals. Of course the flowers are gorgeous, but that that doesn’t mean I want to die to get the flowers.
And speaking of death, all this frigging’ frosty, overcast, dampish weather is really about death. Those pretty colored leaves? They’re dying!
And the smell that’s in the air when I walk in the park? It’s from leaves decaying!
They’re rotten and decomposing!
And that other smell this time of year?
Is smoke from burning all those decaying leaves.
And after this season of multihued dying comes the frigid, gray, grand finale of death—WINTER!
Perhaps if spring came right after fall, I think I could handle it.
Thanks for allowing me to rant.
I feel better now.
Now, apple pie and hot cocoa anyone?