Pumpkin Spice Not So Nice

August. Otherwise known as the Sunday of Summer. Read that somewhere, and ain't it the truth? The sweltering heat is pushing triple digits with a humidity index that's making my curly hair look like a worn-out Brillo pad and boy, nothing would quench my parched throat like an ice cold beer.  A Midori Margarita or brain-freeze Slurpee would also do the trick. 

Or how 'bout a steaming hot pumpkin latte? Yup, they're back and I love 'em. 

But not in August. 

Pumpkins represent autumn--that chill in the air, falling leaves, changing colors. Pumpkins are scarecrows and harvest festivals, not swimsuits and beach days. Pumpkins in summer are like Santa sightings in October--encroaching on the current season and just really damned annoying. 

And when pumpkin lattes and pumpkin brownies and pumpkin muffins and pumpkin everything become so readily available ahead of schedule, it ruins the anticipation.

Or as I like to say, "How can I miss you if you won't go away?"

Anything launched ahead of schedule loses its luster because in this age of instant gratification, it's here before we've even had a chance to register its absence and look forward to its return. We no longer have to wait for any "special time of year" because salivating retailers are hawking their wares with that mentality that, "If you like it in October, you'll love it in September, and you'll really LOVE it in August!" 

Same goes with Christmas. Why not take a beloved, joyous two-day Christian holiday and turn it into an obnoxious three-month marketing opportunity that steamrolls over Halloween and Thanksgiving? Don't even get me started on the exploitation of Christmas and these "Christmas in July" sales. That's a future rant. You've been warned. You're welcome.

Right now I'm focused on pumpkins. Love 'em, don't want 'em. Not yet.  I want to relish the Sunday of Summer and all that goes with these waning summer days before we enter a new season, replete with pumpkins, pumpkins, everywhere.  And not one minute, or gourd, before.

But after Labor Day, let's talk.