The Inescapable Plague

It should come as no surprise to anyone who’s lived on Martha’s Vineyard that August is one of my least favorite months of the year. The only two that are worse, in my opinion, are February and March.

So while I’ve been sitting here contemplating my loathing for the eighth month, I’ve compiled a list of Top 10 Reasons to Eradicate August:

10. My ceiling fan is a hazard to my health (as you all know by now), and once August is over, I probably won’t need it to be turned on in order not to die of suffocation in my bedroom.

9. August mosquitoes are terrible little beasts which seem to be eating the skin right off of most of my friends (for some reason they’ve spared me the entire summer… perhaps because I’m too salty, har-har).

8. The horrendous buzzing noise that comes from a moped is only slightly less annoying than having a mosquito doing fly-bys next to your ear… and in August there are more complete asshole fuckwits on mopeds than in any other month.

7. It’s nearly impossible to walk down a sidewalk in August without being exiled into the street at least once because someone’s family of five has decided to commandeer the entire sidewalk, and

6. August people walk v e r y V E R Y s l o w l y.

5. Everyone working in any sort of public capacity is so unnerved by the bastard August tourists that you’re likely to get arrested for jaywalking when some jerkoff runs you off the sidewalk and into the street, because the cop hanging out outside the Corner Store is downright desperate to handcuff and harass SOMEBODY.

4. The Island House exists. Which I suppose is reason enough to eliminate June, July and September as well. One step at a time.

3. August’s weather is unfailingly in line with Murphy’s Law, which dictates that “whatever can go wrong will go wrong.” What this means is that it will always, ALWAYS be shitty, cold and rainy on your day off, and fantabulous every other day until September, and you will go into the Autumn with the same pasty color of skin that you walked into June with.

2. Skunks. Everywhere. In herds of at least three or four. In fact, I think there are enough that if a clandestine army tucked one in the suitcase of every asshole from New Jersey as they were leaving, we’d still have a jillion left.

1. Nantucket Red (which, as those of you who are lucky enough to be here in August know, is actually pink). Men should not wear pink pants, ever. EVER. And particularly not with terrible tacky woven belts with whales on them and collars tickling their earlobes. And for fuck’s sake, if you’re gonna wear this horrible combination, have the decency to at least wear sunscreen so you’re not adding your lobster-baked skin to the unnecessary ocular assault of PINK. (And incidentally, if you’re wearing pink pants and your big honkin’ class ring from some asshole Ivy League school that your daddy’s money got you into, you’re STILL on the WRONG ISLAND).

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~ by saltgirlspeaks on 14 August, 2008.

One Response to “The Inescapable Plague”

  1. Pink Pants? That sounds like a bad episode of “Fantasy” Island. Were any of these cretins accompanied by a little man wearing a white suit who kept going on and on about aircraft in the sky?

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