I grew up in California, but in many ways these past couple months in New York have felt like Baby’s First Summer. Before this year, never had I ever….
– left home in the morning without a backup shelter for my shoulders
– worn shorts out at night
– not had a vitamin D deficiency
– (just kidding, still have that)
– had iced coffee so many days in a row
– watched everyone I know leave town every weekend
– (without me)
– had a summer fling.
That last point, in particular, gathers us here today. Now, I don’t have a summer fling (does self-tanner count?) nor am I in pursuit of one. More: until last week, I was unaware that anyone was. In my world, they are not an actual thing unless you’re a character in Grease, but during a recent conversation with my esteemed colleagues of the so-called man-repelling variety, I was informed that Summer Flings (capital S, capital F) are a serious and very real annual tradition. Further — according to them — eeeeeeveryone has an anecdote or five to share.
I am suspicious. Is this true? Have you had a Summer Fling? Did you sing about it on the bleachers to your friends? DO YOU HAVE ONE NOW? This is a safe place. Please tell me. I’ve been indoors for many hours (see point #4) and need you to tell me everything.
Collage by Lily Ross.