You’re such an August.

I hate summer.


I love all the other seasons. I’ve tried to embrace it, I’ve tried to adapt, but as I near forty I’m assessing my life and discerning my spiritual truths. I can’t stand being overheated, sweating, insects being on or biting me, being blinded by bright light, the smell of cheap body products on unwashed bodies, and the sound of people walking in flip-flops.

Why am I writing about summer in November? Because that’s how much I hate it! (I always imagine Lewis Black saying that for me when I think it. If someone could arrange that, that would be great.)


A dear friend of mine, Molly, and I were joking about which month should be the official month of sarcasm and pet peeves. She suggested the noisy months and I said it should be August. The hottest fucking month of the year that inspires depression, gluttony, and bad films.

I was so hungover in my twenties once from trying to drink my way into enjoying the summer heat that I could have swore that I was pissing Gatorade by the end of the month. How depressed? I watch movies with snow in them to cheer me up. When the heat starts, I crack out the holiday movies and begin Christmas shopping online.

But, alas, I don’t want my kids to hate the heat, and experience what I go through three months out of the year, but I also don’t want them cussing like me, so I’ve decided to find ways to embrace summer while giving it the finger. I suggested to my friend that maybe we should start calling people “August” instead of our favorite cuss words.

It would be great in code. I could warn you someone sucks by introducing them as “August”. We could shout it at confused hipsters that think they’re being anti-establishment in their angst when they jay-walk or ride their bicycle without a helmet against traffic. “Go to hell you filthy August!” Our children will be safe and our rebellion will be 365 days a year.

My husband, Jamie, listened to my theory and replied, “You know, I was born in August, right?”
“Yes, I know.”

So I encourage all of you to identify your annoyances and use them as new cuss words around your children. It will make for some amusing “mad libs” moments to while away the day and teach your children to be more creative in expressing their anger and complaints without those pesky social snafus of telling little Johnny to stop saying “£&#!”. That’s why Nora says “Boehner” sometimes when she falls down and “stinky nap!” when I won’t put on cartoons.


Happy November! May it be a blessing and a connotation of gratitude and not your personal “August”.