Dear summertime babes,
Um, I hate you. As I spend my days sweating my face off and looking like a haggard ass ho, you walk past me looking pristine and beautiful in your summer short shorts and tank tops. It’s 100 degrees out. Why have you not melted? I should be seeing beads of sweat drip down your forehead, an uncomfortable facial expression, and perhaps even some butt crack sweat. But no. Instead, I see your beautiful face staring back at my melted down popsicle of a face. How do you do it and have you been sent here to torture me and can I get your number?
I thought that once summer hit, we would all be sisters in the struggle but I thought wrong. The heat does not treat us equally. For the beautiful people, the heat gives them a sun-kissed look, giving them little pecks all across their cheek and a glowing tan. It also apparently installs an anti-sweat protector so that their darling visages won’t be ruined by evil perspiration. All day every day, the heat holds gorgeous people in their arms, making them look even more gorgeous. Meanwhile, it shoots us a death stare as we climb up five flights of stairs to our apartment and put our head in the freezer. It gives us sunburns and makes us peel all over the place. It does to us what it’s exactly supposed to do: Make us look freakish and disgusting. So how come it always feels like you’re the only being physically affected by the heat?
“Don’t touch me!” is our seasonal greeting by friends and lovers. “I’m so sweaty and disgusting. The thought of touching you gives me that weird behind the knees sweat. I can’t!” We respect their wishes but also can’t help but be resentful that somewhere out there, summertime babes are getting laid right and left. They’re seducing people with their skin that smells like salt water, sand and jealousy, their dark toned arms, and empty promises of a beach house. NOT FAIR. Summertime babes, you are making me and my bizarre neck sweat look bad. I thought we were all in this together. I thought it was understood that we’d all look like crap during the summer so why did you have to change the game on me? Am I being punked? Is there a secret air-conditoned station on every street corner where you go to touch up? ANSWER ME! Right now, my hair won’t even talk to me. Whenever it becomes frizzy, it starts to get real emotional and shut me out.
Summertime babes, I wish to be one of you. I don’t know what you had to do to stay so sweat free and stunning (did you give the heat a HJ?) but I’m jealous. Please go away for a sec so I can collect myself. Go to The Hamptons and leave the city to the gross sweaty monsters like me. Thanks.