Summer is Lame

There was a period in my life when summer was my favorite time of year. I would swim all day or take five-hour naps or play basketball or tennis until it was too dark to see. Late at night I'd watch The Arsenio Hall Show long after I would have already been asleep the rest of the year, then I'd sleep in the next morning until The Price is Right was on. TV programming was the only reason I ever knew what time it was. I had no responsibility... nothing to accomplish or work on. Summer vacation was a three-month break from everything. By the depressing first day of school each fall, I had completely forgotten how to read and write from a summer of allowing my brain to atrophy inside my sun-baked head. Summer was wonderful... then I got older.

Now summer is the same as every other time of year except there's a lot more yard work, there's no football or basketball on TV, and I burst into flames every time I get in my car. Any season that includes weekly lawn-mowing is an enemy to me. I'm ready for fall... with its 70-degree days, football season, and the return of entertaining TV. Summer's so lame.