Must Be the Season of the Witch
Just thinking about how my increased weight of the past few years has affected more than just my looks and my health--it has also affected some of my attitudes and outlooks.
I used to LOVE summer and DESPISE winter. I even hated Fall, because all Fall meant to me was that Winter was right around the corner, and I dreaded it. Long after my school days were over, Summer symbolized a sweet kind of freedom that only comes with long, light, warm evenings spent on the back patio, hearing the chimes of the neighborhood ice cream truck, having dinner with my niece and nephew under the umbrellas at the town pool, and front lawns smelling of freshly cut grass. Winter, on the other hand, meant getting up in the dark, leaving work in the dark, walking the dog in the freezing cold while trying to manipulate plastic poop bags with gloves on, clammy feet inside Wellington boots, and constantly being hemmed in by mountains of snow, slush, and ice.
NOW, however, and for the past couple of years, I DREAD the return of hot weather, for it brings with it the now-loathed Summer Wardrobe: T-shirts, shorter skirts with no tights, the option of dresses and tank tops, and, god forbid, bathing suits or shorts. I long to take refuge and hide behind structured jackets, draping cardigans, long-sleeved blouses, heavy skirts, pants, coats, etc. And, of course, my beloved varieties of Spanx, which are just torture devices in hot weather. Not to mention the potential for effusive perspiration during my hellish commute on Manhattan subways, which leads to agonizing chub rub!
No, my carefree days of Summer seem to be over, thanks to the extra fifty pounds I'm carting around. I never thought I'd say this, but I miss Winter!