Amazingly, distressingly, horrifyingly, the end of summer is upon us. The fin de saison. The last piece of the pie, the final revolution of the carousel. The death.
Upon us, too, are the thoughts that assail the brain at such occasions. Thoughts like: Did I get all I could out of these magical few months? Did I fully capitalize on my time in the sun? Did I waste my summer?
Probably you did, yes.
But for easy confirmation, a quiz.
- Does your glowingly burnished tan turn heads in public? Could your gleaming bronzeness put a Kardashian to shame?
- Did you perfect the buttertart? Did you see through your start-of-summer pledge to “finally master the runniness”?
- Do you feel so deliciously relaxed that your muscles and sinews have the quality of massaged gummy worms?
- Have you made enough meaningful summertime memories to fill an album with grinning shots of multiple generations enjoying each other’s company at beaches and garage sales?
- Did you set up a lemonade stand with your kid? Did you really savour the magic of the experience? Did you not take for granted a single moment of your child’s summertime loveliness, the likes of which shall never be seen again?
- Have you read the books of the summer? Can you speak knowledgeably and with wit about French Exitand Women Talking? Could you hold your end up in a post-season salon?
- Have you learned a new language? Are you, as you promised yourself in April, “pretty much conversational in Mandarin”?
- Did you host enough social gatherings? Did you put those Edison bulbs and Pier One patio glasses to work? Did you make a Summer 2018 party mix?
- Did you plunder the peak-of-ripeness bounty of local fruit stands all the days of the summer? Did you bake raspberry pies and blueberry yogurt loaves and strawberry pound cakes? Are all your clothes streaked with berry juice?
All yes: You rock. You can descend into autumn and beyond with the confidence that you squeezed all the juiciness from your brilliant summer fruit. And nice tan there, Brock.
All no: You suck. You get just a couple of months a year (all year!) to do your summertime thing and you messed it up. I don’t envy the regret and loss that await you in the coming stretch, especially when the subway’s shut down because of snow on the tracks.