This is me writing a note to the season.
I feel that we are not really connecting, and as the sun’s delicate caresses increase my chances of having wonderful skin cancer (Woot Woot?) let me break this awful news to you: I never really liked you, and secretly hated all the heat that you forced upon me (Assault?) No, I don’t want to go “This is nothing but a summer jam, We’re gonna party as much as we can” or “We don’t even have to try, it’s always a good time!” with anyone. Vomit. I will not be pulled into this debauchery a.k.a extreme Haraam things. Nopes, Sorry.
While others try to find an excuse to display all sorts of gross nudity, and abhorrent fashion fads that my poor brain can’t stand. Case in point: Hi, we’re some random shitty summer lawn who are trying to pass off as TEH MOST AWESOME THING AFTAAH KITTEHS AND UNICORNS AND U.P.S! Buy us, women of this third world country! We will hunt you for the next 6 months!
Don’t let your babies see what they do to
seemingly normal women.
Sweat. No, I don’t want to see anyone’s sweat covered shirt or sweat laced armpits, or the lovely stench that wafts towards me which makes me retch or want to undergo a surgery to remove my olfactory senses. Seriously, the latter. Thanks, but no, thanks. Every time somebody raises their arms, an innocent squirrel dies somewhere.
We have no electricity, and as much as I like to enjoy this rustic, 18th century feel; I would rather waste precious energy and sit in an air-conditioned room because of you.
Not-so-much-love and I-like-winter,
P.S: I can always eat ice-cream in the winter, and still be able to
Gasp! Wut? enjoy it.
P.P.S: Others can go summer jammin’ for all hellz I do not care!