Summer is a good time to let the demons out.
It’s hot. It’s sticky. Clothes fall off. Father Time shows his marks every summer. The once perky boobs now hang low. Lines show up on the face. Even the beer dehydrates the body faster in the summer. Tolerances are at an all-time low. Show me one more empty Pop Ice wrapper and I’ll slit you with a pair of sticky, dull scissors.
It’s ok to judge. I don’t mind. I’m here to vent steam. It keeps me cool. It keeps me from exploding.
It started while scrolling Pinterest late one night, hours after my demon summer spawns went to bed. This pin showed up in my feed.
My mind filled with more images, like a highlight reel. These are things that wouldn’t piss off normal human beings. I can’t even tell you why these things piss me off. They just do. And I’ve had it.
Gas stations not thanking me. Gas stations not displaying a “thank you” on the screen when I’m done pumping. I have choices where to get gas and I choose your gas station, never mind I came rolling in hot on fumes. I would like a simple “thank you.” Please.
Scott responding to any argument with “relax.” He just pushed the “crazy” button and now I’m holding the sticky, dull scissors.
Shopping at Hobby Lobby and hearing Scott’s “relax” voice in my head. Did you just call me a beach too? Now I’m mad at Scott and he isn’t even here.
Big spoons in silverware sets. You heard me. The big spoons. Not the big forks. Not the knives. I can’t even look at this picture. They need to go to Goodwill. But then I’ll be left with more big spoons because they come in a set when I buy more little spoons to replace them.
Dogs slurping their crotch at 4 am. It’s like they don’t even feel the pillow thrown at their head.
Walking into my other half’s closet and looking at these hangers. Did you just tell me to relax?
Game of Thrones. I mean, I get it. It’s a good show. It’s so good that Scott ignores me and my saggy boobs. He breaks into a sweat after every episode only to watch one more, just one more.
Scott taking off his belt. The man has to change clothes. He can’t watch Game of Thrones all the time. He takes off his belt after a long day at work, pretending he has a sword attached, and says, “yes, M’lord.” Hey watch – I’m the mother of dragons. Tell me to relax and watch what happens.
People telling me they love my blog in person. But I didn’t even know you read my blog. I realize this sounds teenager-ish but I don’t have any way of knowing if you – yes, you – read my blog unless you interact with me online. I need encouragement on a consistent basis because I’m really just a teenager.
Grey streaks of hair. Teenager on the inside.
Leftovers. It’s a big pile of cold mush. I’m sorry, starving kids in Africa. I can’t do it. Would you like a to-go box sent to Africa?
Realizing maybe cats really are assholes. Penny invites herself to the dinner table. She insists on meat. I can tell her no, like a dog, but she won’t listen to me because she’s an asshole cat.
Do you have a Target RedCard? No. Do you have a grocery store card? No. Your gas station doesn’t tell me thank you. Do you have a library card? Wait, yes, I do have that. Stop the cards. Just give us a discount for not writing a check.
That felt good.
Tell me your vents. Let off some of that heat. It’s summer.