To my dear friends up North:
You know who you are. This morning, you awakened with a sparkle of excitement. The first whispers of a chill in the air greeted you (real or imagined).
“There’s a shift in the atmosphere,” you mused, eager to share your joy with the world.
Your love for fall surged, leading you to rummage through your closet for that bin of cozy sweaters. You thought of football games, vibrant leaves, the thrill of a new school year, and of course, pumpkin spice lattes. And just like that, you declared your affection for autumn to all your social media followers with the hashtag #PSL.
But I need to be upfront with you—it’s not you, it’s me.
Well, maybe it is you a little.
Right now, I find myself feeling a wave of envy and irritation towards you and your fellow autumn enthusiasts. But don’t fret; this feeling is fleeting. By mid-November, when your colorful leaves have turned to mush, your new sweaters are beginning to show wear, and the skies have settled into a dull gray until April, I’ll be ready to reconnect.
For the next couple of months though, I must confess that I hold an unspoken grudge against your seasonal celebrations.
When you pin images of knee-high boots and chunky scarves on your “Fall Favorites” board, a little piece of me withers. Sure, I might re-pin those images, but deep down, I know my boots won’t see the light of day until late October, and even then, I’ll feel like a fraud as I sweat it out inside them.
When you share your latest pumpkin-flavored creations, from pancakes to cocktails to—let’s be honest—pumpkin-scented potpourri (enough with the pumpkin already!), I feel a mix of rage and jealousy that’s hard to describe.
Your Instagram feeds filled with stunning photos of fiery maple trees make me want to bang my head against the steering wheel of my car—if only it weren’t so hot to touch.
You post about the aroma of homemade applesauce wafting from your kitchen while I’m stuck cranking the A/C, cursing the unyielding heat that seems to linger forever.
And when you dress your kids in adorable matching fall outfits and snap pictures at the pumpkin patch, I’m slathering mine in SPF 50, hustling to get out early to avoid the sun. Yes, we participate in the fun, but only because our kids have been cooped up for far too long.
While you cheer for your team, bundled in knit hats and sipping warm cider, I’m stuck indoors, wishing I could escape the relentless heat.
Then there’s that infamous first pumpkin spice latte of the season—while I feel a twinge of hate for all that it symbolizes, I can’t resist ordering one and posting a picture of my own, albeit begrudgingly.
It’s not really your fault. I know that come spring, as you scroll through my sun-soaked posts about kids playing in the sprinklers and my fresh sunburn, you’ll feel the same kind of annoyance. But for now, I can’t help but feel this way.
Remember, there’s a reason Starbucks doesn’t offer an iced pumpkin spice latte—it simply tastes like bitter resentment.
Until November,
Your friend in the warm climate,
Penny