mizChartreuse || redefiningSuccess

Fall is such a beautiful season in Chicago. The leaves are changing, the air is crisp, and the pleasures of summer are but a faint memory.

Screw. That.

I’ve read so many blogs lately about how excited the writer is about Autumn, and how the change of scenery puts them in a different mood, one that’s ready for apple cider and pumpkin carving and hoodie weather…

Screw. That.

I feel jipped. Summer is MY favorite season. None of that in-between, transitional BS like rainy Spring and bone-chilling-Autumn. I’ve heard the arguments: “Well, in the winter you can add layers to increase warmth, but you can’t remove your skin when you’re naked in a kiddie pool in early July when the temperatures are in the high 90s…” Whoever said I liked layering? I only do it because I have no choice.

I don’t care. Chicago’s “summer” of 2009 was a complete and utter joke.

There are fewer than six days that I can recall actually HAVING to turn on the air conditioner. I went to the beach probably half a dozen times. There were no reports of heat waves and reminders to check on the elderly and stay hydrated and go to cooling stations if you don’t have electricity to cool your house. What happened to that? I miss that.

Everyone’s so excited about the Fall season, ready to bust out their Autumn fashions and have bonfires and make cornucopias and whatnot…but they’re obviously living in delusion.

Without a semblance of a transition, the schizophrenic midwest has thrust us into a cold Autumn, cooler than usual, I would say. We went from having a number of 70-degree days “which are odd for September,” as Tom Skilling undoubtedly told us, to an instantaneous “Fall” season in which I have to prematurely call my landlord to ignite the pilot lights in the heaters that warm my house during the winter months.

Simply said, I did NOT get enough of my 90-degree days!

During my last laundry-folding session (which obviously came about two weeks after I actually washed my clothes), I’ve had to put away all my cute flip-flops, strappy heels and breezy summery skirts in exchange for sweaters, cardigans, entire-foot-covering shoes/boots and jeans. Sure, I’ll continue to live in denial and wear some of my skirts and dresses with the obligatory leggings and multi-colored layers on top, but only because I have to. And I don’t like doing things because I have to.

Fine. Fall fashions are fab. Every year, H&M comes out with great lines of houndstooth-print scarves and trendy knit tops. I’m currently in the market for a sassy pair of everyday boots.

But I’m not to be fooled. I’m not one of those people who is going to fully embrace Autumn In Chicago.  Sure, you should live in the present moment, roll with the punches, and deal with what your working with…but I can be very stubborn when it comes to cold weather and having to wear 15 shirts under my fabulous long black coat. Needless to say, I’m not ready for Winter to come. But when have I ever been? I was born in the upper peninsula of Michigan; you’d think I’d be accustomed to it by now, but no dice. It’s that equatorial African blood running through my veins, I tell ya.

And I’m sure that the small-talk conversation that I deal with on a daily basis at work will commence with the weather and how fast it became so cold. Le sigh.

The only thing I like about Autumn.

God bless leggings. Knee-length, calf-length, ankle-length, stirrups…cotton, lycra, spandex…They’re my only saving grace (with boots or dresses though…no LEGGINGS AS PANTS. EVER).

And for those of you who are Fall Fanatics…good luck with that. Next week you’ll be writing about how beautiful the frost is that covers every tree branch, and lamenting about how there are no trick-or-treaters on Halloween because we’ll be in a below-zero cold snap. Lame!