And so in these recent days I say my last goodbyes to a winter that has nurtured and protected me from the world. I have been able to escape, hidden behind layers of clothing and blankets, curled up on the ducted heating vent. But now the days are fast becoming hot and dry - thick, sweaty air pressing in on me, telling me it's time to take off my jumper and woolen stockings in favour of a singlet and tiny shorts.
I hate summer. It's so... revealing. Everywhere I look I curl my lips in disgust at this modern day fashion. Such disregard for one's own privacy revolts me. Especially the adolescent girls who think they're "all that", parading their newly discovered breasts and bottoms in the tiniest bikini on sale. Although, I cannot argue that it is their fault. In a time of hardcore pornography and, of course, softcore pornography (see any and every film made for teens since the late 90's) it's nearly impossible to live up to standards unless you go to the beach in your birthday suit and not much else.
Aside from being a jealous tyrant in the past few years, I really do have valid reasons for disliking this particular season. It's sweaty, still, you could cut the air with a butter knife and it is unbearably hot. Sleeping becomes a privelage rather than a right, if you can manage it. Although the warmer time of year isn't completely without reward - especially this year. I can't believe I'm spending part of Australia's summer in Europe's winter, actually seeing the snow, the lights, the Christmas markets and drinking in all the delicious little details that make their world so far from ours. And when I arrive home two days before Christmas, there will be decorations and presents galore.
Maybe summer isn't so bad after all.
