(As I was writing this, I was also, surprise, surprise, watching the Red Sox playing the Twins. Bottom of the 8th, 2 outs, 2 men on, Sox down by one and it is pouring rain. Not one single person has left Fenway Park. That, my friends, is dedication. That is a true fan.)
(Edited to add: Dammit!! Youk struck out to lose the game. Fuckfuckfuckfuckityfuckfuck.)
I know a couple of my fellow Mamas have posted stuff about this already, but I haven't and since I love to piss and moan, well, by god, I'm gonna do it.
It's September 27th. It was ninety-freaking-five degrees today. Ninety five. Right now? At nearly 10 p.m.? It's 75. What the hell? Doods, it's almost October. It's fall ball. It's leaves. It's pumpkins and apple picking and corn sheaves, dammit! It's not 85% humidity and me sweating thru my clothes before 9 in the freakin' morning.
Where's my cool, breezy days? Where's my crisp nights? How come I haven't broken out the ancient Roots sweatshirt and beat up L.L Bean barn coat? Huh? Huh??
Fall needs to get her act together and get here. I've had it up to my eyeballs with the heat and the humidity and the stickiness and the lethargy. It's the end of September, for cryin' out loud.