One issue I have with my new Yankee Thanksgiving posse: North of the Mason-Dixon line, dressing disappears. I’m talking about cornbread dressing. They have stuffing. Like Stove Top kind of stuff. It’s tasty, but it’s not my momma’s cornbread dressing. Mom, if you read this, freeze dry me some and ship it to NC, okay? All you Southerners know what I’m talking about and can relate. I’m determined to introduce sweet tea this year, too.
So yeah, I tried to subject this urge to silence, but alas, I have failed. There is something very, very wrong about the temperature being 77 degrees in mid-November. Southern life has its charm, but the constant inferno that is its eternal summer it simply awful. I left Auburn, AL thinking that I’d get to experience at least a taste of fall in North Carolina. Nope. Wrong. Summer (no spring, no fall) extends from late March to early December apparently. It’s like the bloody NBA! Nine months chalked full of sweaty crap. Can I get some relief? Where is my fall? Yeah, yeah, I know I just gave some sentimental Robert Frost-like musing just a few short days ago on the virtues of fall in Wake Forest, but I obviously was deceived. It’s hot. I’m a chubby kid, and heat does not go well for me. I’ve got to go north. Shiver, tell me there’s hope for a genuine fall up north?
Even more fun is the daily fiasco that is getting dressed for the day. It’s hovering just below 80 degrees outside, but each and every classroom in the seminary is like 60. Therefore, I must wear sweaters so I don’t lapse into hypothermia during class, but upon the close of my academic endeavors each day, I must go to the YMCA and chase around 1st graders in said winter wear. Thus, from 3:00pm until I come home at 6, I smell. Yes, I admit it. I smell. It’s a disturbing aroma, too, like a hybrid between sweat and the sickening sweet odor of children. Not a pleasant sweet smell, mind you; it’s the smell that says, “I’m not old enough to stink like an adult, but I’m also giving evidence that I haven’t bathed in two days, either.” [Shudder] So at this moment I (1) Have no cornbread dressing; (2) Have been slighted of my long-awaited autumn; and (3) Possess the alluring fragrance of pre-adolescent body aroma constantly. At least Harry Potter is being released this weekend. There won’t be any foul-smelling children there, right? RIGHT?!
Alright Drew,
The truth? NYC has slipped into a weather pattern that has left the trees soggy, brown, and nearly naked thanks to the flip-flop between 34 degrees at night and 70 degrees in the afternoon. Let’s all raise our aerosol cans and give a big salute to global warming. Sorry to disappoint, but know that you’re not alone.