A Letter from Mrs. Holmes

Dear fall season, 

I’m not sure if you were aware of our date in the city for the next month or so, but I don’t appreciate being stood up. And no, it was not OK to send your gross roommate, winter, to meet me instead. He smells and he’s extremely unpleasant, cold and squishy. Did I do something wrong? Was it something I said? I lined up some really cute fall weather outfits to wear for our reoccurring date, but now they all have to be hidden by poofy marshmallow man jackets, boots, gloves, hats and scarves. I thought about rebelling against you and wearing those outfits anyway, but I value the feeling in my hands and feet more than I value you. 

Just so you know, it was 38 degrees and pouring down rain yesterday. While I was out running errands, a man stopped me on the street wanting to take few a minutes of my time to talk to me about global warming. Irony of all ironies. I stared at him, hands trembling, teeth chattering, and sending him those “Are you completely nuts?” vibes. I wanted to say, “Tell me where fall is, then we can talk,” but I had lost the use of my vocal cords due to them turning into ice cubes. 

So, maybe next time, call ahead and let me know you’re not going to show up. Or even just send me a text. Smoke signal. Morse code. Anything. Don’t leave me shivering in the cold and heart broken.

RUDE.