Oh Mister Sun, Sun, Mister Golden Sun,
Please get away from me. I know you’re essential for all life on this planet, and that without you we’d fall victim to an eternity of ice and darkness and most likely revert back to our primal instincts and tear away the veil of civilization with our own jagged, bloody fingernails or whatever, but you’re getting a little carried away.
Don’t you remember the good times? Back when I was physically able to do things besides just sit at my computer with a fan blasting on my sweaty, sweaty face, munching on ice cubes and trying to figure out the logistics of moving to Antarctica. Permanently. That was great! You know what’s not great? Opening my door and being punched in the face by an unrelenting wall of heat. I know you’re just doing your job, but don’t you have some vacation days saved up?
Be off with you, sky-bound ball of hellfire!
I don’t mean to say that I don’t love you, or summer in general, but I (and anyone who has to stand within a three-foot radius of me) would probably be much happier if I wasn’t releasing my own weight in perspiration every day.
ILLUSTRATION BY CONER CORBETT