Summer is Worth Complaining About

“The snow is so pretty when it glistens.”

My wife spoke these words last night when I was complaining about the cold.

“And the air is so fresh and clean. And we can go sledding and build snowmen.”

She was trying to act like winter doesn’t suck. I admire her “look at the bright side” approach, but this ain’t my first rodeo. She can’t fool me simply by reciting a few winter fallacies that even she doesn’t believe.

Winter is the pits, especially January and February winter, and no good-natured, it’s-not-that-bad declaration will convince me otherwise. My wife and I have discussed moving to a warm weather climate at least half a dozen times over the past three months, and we’re only half-joking. I’m not buying her sudden “yay winter” attitude.

However, we’ve got at least two more months of this crap, and I’m already tired of hearing myself complain about it, so I guess it’s time to try another tactic. Maybe I can fool myself into thinking that I’m actually happy about winter, and shoveling snow before sunrise, and wind chill warnings, and every other dreadful thing that goes along with having the great misfortune of living far away from the equator in winter.


Airing my grievances about winter didn’t work. I’m obviously still mad. So instead I’ll air my grievances about summer. Let’s try the “It could be worse” approach.

It could be worse, we could be shooing mosquitoes away from our faces and swatting them on our arms.

It could be worse, we could feel all sweaty as soon as we leave the house.

It could be worse, our lawns could be dry and brown with no relief in sight as the weather forecast shows only sunshine for the foreseeable future.

It could be worse, our ice cream cones could melt all over our hands before we have a chance to eat them.

It could be worse, those neighbor kids could be screaming all afternoon as they bounce on their trampoline.

It could be worse, we could have to sleep with our windows closed because the mangy mutt next door won’t stop barking and his idiot owner won’t let him in.

It could be worse, we could be caught walking back from the park in one of those freak afternoon thunderstorms where the sky is clear one minute and then it gets all windy, dark and rainy, and we’re looking over our shoulders to make sure we don’t see flying cows or any of the other cool stuff from the movie Twister.

It could be worse, we could have to deal with the faint, distant smell of skunk when we run to the store late at night.

It could be worse, the car could be filled with sand because no matter how thoroughly we towel off when we leave the beach it’s impossible to shake it all off.

It could be worse, we could take a swig from the bottle during that backyard barbeque and discover that our beer is warm.

It could be worse, we could arrive early for the big 4th of July parade, only to find out that some new guy and his family have taken the spot we’ve claimed for the past fifteen years.

It could be worse, we could discover that it's harder to fly a kite than we remember.

It could be worse, we could start walking barefoot across the beach and then discover that the sand is much hotter than we thought, and then have to figure out a way to get back to our shoes without burning our feet off, to say nothing of the challenge of enjoying the rest of the day at the beach with blisters on our soles.

It could be worse, there could be too much wind to have a bonfire responsibly.

It could be worse, we could be dealing with the reality of a Cubs season.

It could be worse, some putz could say, “Hot enough for ya?” as if the words had never been spoken before.

It could be worse, it could be the middle of summer and we could be left with nothing to do but drink lemonade and relax.

Actually, now that I think about it, all of that stuff sounds better than a thirty-five degree below zero wind chill.

Damn you winter. You’re no summer.

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