Hot

“I hate summer. It’s so hot. It’s so hot and then inside it’s like living in a refrigerator. I never go outside and end up feeling like an old piece of freezer burned steak wrapped in an old sweater. I can’t wait for the pools to close up. I can’t wait for the lifeguards to go home. I want the trees to die and drop leaves into the late pool closers and clog their filters. I want to permanently ban flip-flops and shorts that spend more time up your junk then covering your butt. Know what I mean?” David said as he rattled a window in annoyance as his nephew raced up and down the lawn with the neighbor’s big dopey dog.

“Shh, you only hate summer because no one’s home all summer. They’re usually out playing games or swimming or on vacation. And if they are inside, they’re much too happy, or drunk, or hungover to notice you haunting them,” Donna said to her ghost. “Relax Deadboy, they’re already putting out the Halloween decorations in the supermarket.”

“Really?”

“Really, now stop rattling my windows and go iron your sheet.”

Fin.

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