If you haven’t set up a summer getaway yet, you better get cracking. Prime weekends on the Outer Banks and mountain lakes are already booked. Disney will be at peak attendance until September. Get something now or you’ll have to wait until after the Fourth of July, by which time summer is pretty much over.
The next person who tells me “After the Fourth of July summer is pretty much over” has like a 5% chance of me stabbing them in the face with a screwdriver.
How does this always happen? People spend the entire winter bitching and moaning about the snow and once summer arrives it’s either 1.) Almost over or b.) Too hot or III.) All of the above.
Officially, summer started June 21st.
Two days ago.
Thirteen days before July 4th.
What’s most troubling is how these people say summer is over after the Fourth of July with such conviction. They really believe it. They don’t stop to realize that it’s the equivalent of saying winter is over on January 4th, but that’s exactly what brings to light the fundamental psychological factor at play here:
Why must there always be a problem?
I understand some people are incomprehensibly stupid and some people just like the sound of their own voice and some people talk so as not to feel uncomfortable—along with “How’s the family?” and “How’s the job?” talking about the weather completes the Holy Trinity of jerk off small talk.
However, this isn’t about struggling to make conversation. This is about people never accepting happiness because it’s easier than, you know, actually being happy.
You know what? I take it back. The next person who tells me “After the Fourth of July summer is pretty much over” isn’t getting stabbed in the face with a screwdriver.
Instead, I’m bringing them to the beach. Or on a hike. Or to a play in the park. Or to an outdoor concert on the water.
We will go and we will have fun.
We will have fun because it’s summer.
And because it’s summer they will ask me:
“Can you believe it’s almost Christmas?”