Welcome to the sexiest season on the Canadian calendar: summer.
Bare shoulders. Bare legs. Bare feet (my favourite).
There’s barely a reason to put on pants, really. Except, you know, you should really put on pants because nobody at the grocery store is letting you in without pants. Or a shirt. Or shoes. Obey the sign.
Now that we’re into July, it seems as if the calendar is chalked full of things that, though exciting and fun, will make this season fly by in a flash.
Look, I don’t mean to freak you out (okay, maybe a little I do), but July also reminds me it’s only six months until Christmas. Stir that reminder into your adult blender beverage of choice and drink it.
I don’t want summer to go by fast. I want summer to move as slowly as pure maple syrup being poured from a jug over my plate of French toast. Slow, steady and super sweet. But don’t let the maple syrup touch my bacon. Gross.
July is packed with so much to do and see and experience, I’m not sure how I’ll fit it all in. I am sure I’ll have a great time trying.
There are live music concerts to attend, theatre shows, the Fergus Medieval Faire is on my to-do list, plus a few farmers’ markets around Wellington County that I have always wanted to check out.
There will be at least one day at a beach somewhere far from here, with my feet in a lake, sinking in the sand. There will be barefoot dancing in the grass beneath the stars. That is for sure. I may even play music.
July is the birth month of the most exceptional people (cough) so I have a few of those to celebrate, or at least remember to remember, which I almost always forget. Except mine.
I know when mine is, naturally, but if you ask my age I now find I have to think about it. I don’t like to think about it, so don’t ask. Seriously, just don’t.
But check your inbox for the “It’s Kelly’s Birthday” reminder. Note: check your junk mail too.
My July highlight will be a pedicure. I’m not even ashamed of this precious, self-indulgent act. I deserve it. My feet also deserve it. It will be my birthday present to myself. I look forward to this more than anything this month. Happy birthday to me and my toes.
My favourite summer tradition sparks joy in my marital relationship: I ask for a swimming pool. I don’t actually want one (I sort of want one), but I do so enjoy watching my husband, the Carpenter, flip out at the request.
He prattles on about why we don’t have the resources or the need for a pool. Now that we don’t own the place where we live, it’s a definite no.
These truths don’t deter me in the least. I am quick to negotiate for a kiddie-pool. Just a little round, plastic pool where I can soak my feet at the end of the day.
Hey, that pedicure is an investment. I must take care of that investment. I’ve been asking for a kiddie pool for years. Years.
I now have a foot bucket. You read that right. The Carpenter is a funny guy.
Let’s all agree to take July nice and slow. Blender drinks and kiddie pools.
Don’t even look at August yet.
Just don’t.
