Steaming Mug of Fantasy.

I am not going to join the gathering gloom psychologically provided by summer’s official end. I am a friend to all things Autumnal and Winter and therefore cannot lament the passing of stench season. Admit it, one and all, summer is a frantic rush to buy pool noodles, “Bug Buggar Off!” the death ray version, swimwear,propane and Bug “Sod OFF!” double strength.
Yes; the BBQ’s are nice I grant you that but unless you have double barreled aerosols of “Bug Buggar Of” Nuclear Potency #1 what is the point?
OK! I grant you that from a male prospective shimmering glossy women in light fairy weight vestments are extraordinarily appealing but then doubly, romantically, so are their winter coats boots hats and gloves, that is just the power of women though one cannot odds their gifts.
Yes! Yes! it is also true that The Turpin fellow, naked on a water slide, is as compelling as an ice cream fight with The Darling Hung Harold of Ottawa. This being so you still cannot compel me to lament the passing of summer. True its arrival was late and its stay shorter than one might have hoped for, someone obviously pissed it off, but it is gone now; get over it. On its way, and in summer’s stead are roaring fires, roasting goats, mewling kittens, fairy lights and steaming mugs of fantasy. Oh yeah and just 115 days to Christmas; so shop early if you plan to get that special something for that splendid Wicks in your life.
I am sorry you did not get your fair share of the smelly armpit season, truly I am but there will be hell to pay if you attempt to arrest my season to placate your own lust for the frying sun. Love; your Wicks.