Summers are the worst, and it’s time to admit it. Join the summer-hating club

Here it comes — my annual “I hate summer” whine-a-thon.

I know a lot of people (primarily my family) are so over hearing me complain. To that I say: Where is your compassion? I’m a winter girl stuck in summer. Not only am I miserable, but I’m exceedingly unpopular.

This is because summer is put on pedestal. The season is laden with propaganda. We’ve been sold a pack of lies that summer is the best season, the best time of your life and where the best memories are made.

In fact, to have a “bad” summer classifies you as a loser. No one is allowed to have a bad summer. Case in point is the first day of school where the teacher begins the class by asking all the students about their summer.

Would you dare to tell the truth? That your dad was a Yankee and resisted turning on the air conditioner in Texas until July Fourth because that’s “what you do in Boston.” Then when you complained that you were being boiled alive, he would shout, “Think of the pioneers. They survived in long dresses and petticoats.”

This meant that you were hot all the time and even going to the pool wasn’t any relief because the water temperature was up to 85-plus degrees, and it felt like swimming in a bathtub that was a mixture of warm spit and Cream of Wheat.

Tragically, your only relief from the heat was opening the door to the kitchen freezer and standing in front of it while eating an eight-pack of Popsicles.

I can guarantee you no one wants to hear this take on summer. To share this tale of woe is almost blasphemy. You’ve violated the first rule of summer, and it’s that no one talks about ever having a bad summer.

Summer is always fun, epic, awesome. When in reality summer is hot, humid and sticky and has UV indexes transported straight from hell.

What I’m doing right now, talking about my profound dislike of summer, could be considered an act of stupidity because the summer lovers are going to come for me, and it’s going to be brutal.

But I feel I must speak out, give a voice, to all the summer haters who for their entire lives have had to pretend that they adore summer.

Sometimes I discover fellow summer haters and it’s glorious when you find out you’re not alone. Recently, I was checking out at the grocery store and the woman scanning my items asked the usual question, “How’s your summer going?”

I decided to be honest and replied, “I hate summer. I hate being hot. So, quite frankly, I’m enduring it.”

I was prepared for the woman to clock me as crazy and get me checked out as soon as possible.

But a miracle occurred. She looked at me and said, “I hate it too. Do you know how rare it is to find someone who admits to hating summer?”

Then, another blessed event happened when the woman standing behind me, interjected, “Oh my God, yes, summer’s the worst.”

The three of us looked at each other in amazement. We had found our people, fellow summer haters.

My first inclination was to embrace these two women, but I didn’t want it to get weird.

So I said, “We need to start a secret society of summer haters. We could have meet ups at really cold places like at an ice factory?”

They both loved the idea and I walked out of the grocery store with a new mission: to unite fellow summer haters.

Together we can make it to autumn (and by that I mean mid-October because September has become August 2.0).

Reach Sherry Kuehl at snarkyinthesuburbs@gmail.com, on Facebook at Snarky in the Suburbs, on Instagram @snarky.in.the.suburbs, and at snarkyinthesuburbs.com.