Uncle Uncle Uncle Uncle Uncle Uncle Uncle Uncle Uncle Uncle Uncle Uncle Uncle.
I am officially calling UNCLE on this weather. I give up. No, seriously.
If you've ever had a hot flash (or keep getting them, oh JOY) in the dead of summer, then you know what I'm talking about. Those motherfuckers (hot flashes, not the women who endure them) suck in the dead of winter; how they feel in the summer is like having a raging fever. All the time. For no reason. Sweat pours down your back and oozes out of every inch of skin, including but not limited to your upper facial lip and your butt crack. You go from zero to boil in about five minutes, and from boil to BROIL in the span of about a millisecond.
I'm ready.
Sure, sure, sure; throw this back in my face once the snowflakes are flying. Right now, though, I wish every night to be able to sleep without the air conditioner running, and wonder every day how many outfit changes I can survive before doing laundry since everything I own is soaked with sweat.
Uncle Uncle Uncle Uncle Uncle Uncle Uncle Uncle Uncle Uncle Uncle Uncle Uncle.
Come on, Fall; I'm so damn ready.
