Really. Let’s Discontinue August. The entire month.
I realize I am not the first person to lament the month of August. It is tied with February, which should be further shortened, as my least favorite month. The reasons August is the unqualified empty toilet paper roll of the year are myriad. And since I don’t have to justify how I feel, my reasons are not always based on reality. You see, everyone I have ever known is in The Cayman Islands, or Barcelona, or Vancouver or vacationing where the locals have accents. I am not one of those people. Also, I really love accents. That I begrudge everyone I know for being on vacation when I am not makes me sound petty, which of course I am.
I have been the center of my children’s summer universe for the last 69 days. August marks the end of a very long summer. The end of summer is generally when I want to shoot myself. I’m a non-conformist, so I prefer to be mired down with depression and self loathing in August rather than the holidays like everyone else. I am counting the days until the start of school when normalcy will resume and absence between me and my adorable offspring can make the heart grow fonder. There have been breaks with the children here and there, but the constant feeling that I am expected to know where they are, what they are doing and feeding them has been omnipresent. How old do they have to be before I can send them to the 7-11 for some beer and smokes? It’s not like I’m going to let them smoke or drink beer. I just need them to start earning their keep. Mama’s beer ain’t gonna pop itself open, children!
August has devoured my lawn, which now looks like an outside carpet version of Charlie Brown’s pathetic Christmas tree. August is National Psoriasis Awareness Month. The eighth month also brags as Cataract Awareness Month (which month is Incontinence Month? August should claim that now, while the claiming is good.) August’s flower is the same infernal poppy that almost took Dorothy down on her trek to Oz. August is host to Middle Child Day, which is just sad, as well as Left Hander’s Day. We also get to thank August for providing us with Romance Awareness Month. Why is that necessary, exactly? It’s been so temperate this summer I can’t add sucky weather to the laundry list of why August bites, but that won’t stop me from trying to convince you that you should hate August alongside me. It is the eighth month of the year. Eight, as in “I ate too much”. Crazy Eights is a really lame card game. Eight Maids a milking. That just sounds nasty. Jon & Kate Plus Eight. Eight tracks. Section 8 means you are crazy in army parlance. Proposition 8. Eight has a totally inferiority complex with seven, the poster child of all things good and pure. Deep sigh. Only 24 days left.
P.S. I just googled Incontinence Awareness Month and of course there is one. It’s in November, which is a really shitty thing to do to a month with two consecutive days off work for nearly everyone not in retail in the U.S. A month which boasts awareness that includes kegels and bladder health totally belongs squarely in August.