Maybe it’s my jovial good nature. Maybe I smile too much. Maybe I’ve mastered too well the ability to feign sincerity.
Some people, when they are with me, begin to wax poetic about the end of summer and the onset of autumn.
September is an absolute menace when it comes to otherwise decent and considerate people spouting off about how life is like a big harvest and ‘gather ye rosebuds while ye may’ and have I ever noticed how a cornfield in the fall is like an old person? Or how a harvested corn crop feels so lonely? Or how pumpkins in the field remind one of abandoned hopes and dreams?
Cease with the similes, already! Enough with the analogies! Spare me the bucolic metaphors!
It’s enough to distract me from gloating that summer is almost gone.
I’m all for a bit of poetry here and there. I myself have been known repeatedly to inflict Haiku poetry on a dearly beloved former partner. Be that as it may, what I have NOT done is flit hither and thither tossing seasonal bon mots around like I was strewing roses from my hat.
I wish others would show equal restraint.
Those afflicted with Seasonally Affected Dippiness Syndrome (or as I prefer to call it, Fall-Autumn Theatrical Histrionics Extreme Annoyance Disorder) must seek immediate treatment and stay on their medication.
I’m giving you fair warning!