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I am done.
When I was a kid and overheard adults groaning about the various dooms of Summer, I was all whaaa? How could they not love this gloriously blissful time of the year?
Twenty years, at least twenty heat strokes, and five thousand mosquito bites later, I am done with it. Please bring me Fall now.
(Hey, doesn’t my hand look a little like I’m trying to play the duck in the shadow puppet play? Also, these are just three of the seven gnarly crimes committed against my skin in my own home this weekend.)