It’s too hot. It was sixty-six degrees when I took Moo to her bus stop at seven o’clock, but the air is dense with humidity and my hair frizzed-out before I even left the porch.
In addition to all my other motherly duties, I now also serve as a sorta early hair warning system for Sassy. I opened her door and said, “Button, it’s morning time” and Sassy said, “Oh wow, so I guess I won’t bother straightening my hair today.”
We seldom have days over 90F/32C, but when we do, they’re mostly in August. August is the month I start sayin things like, “I need me some barn jacket weather!” and “I miss snow!”
But then, look what only happens in August…
The Mister and I are both Sagittarius, so we have a lot of Leo friends, and I love the parade of August birthdays. I love all the Leos. (Shh, Leos are my favorite.)
But August is expensive. For us, August is more expensive than December. The crippling expenses of August are many and include both the OH YAY monies and the GRUMBLE GRUMBLE monies.
For instance, paying for license plates, GRUMBLE GRUMBLE. Back-to-school shopping, GRUMBLE GRUMBLE.
Then there’s the state fair, OH YAY!
I freakin love the state fair. If it were a holiday, it would be my favorite. I will totally walk around miserably hot for the state fair. And fuck yeah, I will pay a cover charge to eat overpriced, so-bad-for-me fair food. I’ll start with the cheese curds, then a pulled pork sammich, and do I want a basket of fries or should I get an ear of corn dripping with butter? Did you see the size of those onion rings? Fried okra? Fried mushrooms? Fried pickles? Maybe I should just have s’more cheese curds. Ooh, a caramel apple! Are those homemade cordial cherries?!? Oh, what I need is a funnel cake with powdered sugar! And maybe some more cheese curds? Yeah. And let’s find a place to sit down, because my $90 Coca-Cola is so heavy, y’all. It’s hot, we should get some ice cream.
It’s not just that I wanna be fair-food fat, either. I hate shopping, but I actually have trouble not shopping at the state fair. I love unique, handmade things. I mean, doesn’t it seem like I should already own an intricately burned-out leather satchel? How have I lived without that? Wouldn’t that look great with this wallet made entirely of recycled paper? Why don’t I have a tree house with a deck and a patio set for my squirrels? I know it’s August, but where else could I find hand-knitted giraffe gloves?!? I want a lamp made out of Fiesta ware, so let’s just be glad I don’t have any place to put it! I cry over wooden furniture, but if you offered to buy me a piece, I wouldn’t be able to decide on one.
“Omalord, that is an entire booth dedicated to vintage calicos! Do not look directly at the fabric! You do not need fabric!”
I don’t buy things at the state fair. I suffer in my self-control.
And I’m all about petting and feeding the farm animals, climbing into agricultural vehicles, talking to beekeepers and buying lotsa local honey, studying mind-blowing quilts, learning obscure things, gawking at the art, browsing the antiques, sticking my head into photo holes, people watching, and oohing and aahing at callas that loom over my head. Seriously, over my head.
The Mister and I married in August, so when we’re not bitchin about how hot it is or how expensive things are, we like to bask in our bliss this time of year. At the mere mention of August, we display some kinda conditioned response like automatic hand-holding and makin googly eyes. Yes, it is nauseating, and as such, you should amply prepare yourself for the ooey gooey love shit that gets blogged here when that special day arrives.
We try to get away or at least get alone for our anniversary, OH YAY! freeing us to do disgusting things to one another, because
lust love, sweet love, dirty, dirty love.
What’s August like for you? Are you a Leo? Which month is your most costly? Do you love gettin fair-food fat?