I just remembered why I hate summer. I knew I didn't like it, but the reason why was totally evasive. For the life of mine, I could not remember. And so, all winter long, I waited with dread for the summer months to arrive and flaunt their hate-able glory.
First, I thought it was the temperature. I am not one of those people that enjoy the hot weather. I don't find sitting on a hot beach, baking in the hot sun, wiping sweat rivers off of my face to be a relaxing way to spend my time. In fact, if I was forced to chose, I would prefer to sleep in a room that is 60 degrees than a room that is 80 degrees. But as I retreat into my air conditioned home, and prepare to become a recluse for the next three months, I realize that heat alone can not be the reason behind my utter hatred of the summer months.
Then, as I stare in consternation at the rip all down the front of my brand new tights, I think this might be the reason behind my abhorrence of the summer months. But deep down I know that isn't the reason either.
Then, as I stare at this itchy, red bump on my forearm, the reason starts coming back to me. But it's not until I hear my little sister running out of the bathroom screaming hysterically about something in the shower, that I remember...
Gosh, I hate them bugs. From the tiniest little mosquito, that flies inconspicuously around, sucking my blood like its life depends on it, to the enormous flying spiders that seem to love our upstairs shower, bugs just creep me out.
Now, without going into the sordid details, I'll simply tell you that I have a lot more reason to be afraid of bugs than most other people. ;-) So as I listen to massive bees buzz around my head, I feel a little guilty. I mean, G-d made the summer, and I should be happy for it. I should love the heat, I should love the bugs. I guess I need to work on myself, but it's hard to work on myself with these bugs flying around my head and these itchy spots all over my skin.