Hey Assholes,

It’s me, Winter. Yes, the season. Do you know any other Winters?

Look. I get it. Fall or Autumn, if you’re a real pompous dick, is great. Yes, crunching leaves, gorgeous colors, excuses to consume baked goods in every unholy form of the pumpkin imaginable. I hear you. No, literally, I can hear you when you gush about how amazing Fall is. I’M RIGHT HERE and I’m tired of hearing about how everyone loves Fall.

In fact, it seems that every season is pretty great except for Winter. People gush about how beautiful and fresh Spring is, then Summer rolls in with her cheap-ass sunglasses, ready to hit the beach. (By the way, Summer’s the real asshole here, and I think we all know it. Mosquitos and sunburns? No thank you!)

And then there’s Fall. Perfect fucking beautiful Fall, with her gorgeous color palette and her amicable temperatures and her long gloaming hours. Her dramatically falling leaves and charming wind gusts that push them down the lane like you’re in a goddamn L.L. Bean catalogue.

But me? Winter? You just “Try to get through” me, “Can’t wait for me to be over,” and “suffer from Seasonal Affective Disorder.” Well, I’m suffering from putting up with real assholes disorder and I’m not thrilled about it either. Jesus. And I thought I was full of snowflakes.

I get that Fall is cool, but I think you’ve all been a little blinded by those super-neon leaves and crisp air. Hear me out: Fall smells like literal death. The decomposing leaves and slowly dying plant-life? Don’t you have to clean up those dead leaf-bodies from your yard? How annoying is that? You’re practically cleaning up after a serial killer. Not to mention that Fall is inconsistent and unpredictable: cool in the morning, hot in the afternoon. What’s the point of wearing those cozy sweaters if you’re constantly ripping them off and dragging them back on only to sweat through them? Aren’t those things dry clean only?!

I’m not saying you should hate Fall, not at all. I’m merely pointing out that no one ever says, “Yeah, Fall’s great, but you know what I’m really excited for? Winter.” And why the fuck not? Have you SEEN my gorgeous snowfalls? The way I make everything look so fresh and new for a moment? How ‘bout that night for eighteen hours a day? That’s metal as fuck! Or the ice crystals I leave on top of a frozen pond? My ice crystals are like a goddamn visual symphony that rivals Holst! I LET YOU SEE YOUR BREATH. No one else does that. No one.

I know it’s cold and you warm-blooded, furless, pansies are sensitive, but is it too much to ask for someone to say, “I’m SO excited for Winter!” I’m the reason you can bundle up in those sweet puffy goose-down Winter coats and giant chunky scarves and cute fucking Winter boots. Everyone looks so damn adorable lumbering around in their Winter accessories like anonymous marshmallow people.

As if that weren’t enough (and wow, what the actual fuck if that’s not enough), you put all of your most favorite and beloved holidays in me and still somehow resent my very existence. How can you love the “Christmas season” for its fucking delightful decorations and baked goods and goddamn wholesome family get-togethers and hate Winter? I AM LITERALLY THE SEASON OF CHRISTMAS. JUST BECAUSE I’M NOT BLOWING FUCKING LEAF CORPSES AROUND YOUR NEIGHBORHOOD I GET NO LOVE?! It is a wild and irrational injustice, you fuckers.

What am I, if not a super-sized Fall? Fall’s an excuse to sip warm beverages, sure, but I’m a reason to get cuddly by the fireplace. And you know what happens once you start getting cuddly by the fireplace. You get some hanky panky goin’. Touching tongues. Bumpin’ uglies. Headin’ down to bone town. Gettin’ freaky in the sheets. Making your own heat.

Fuckin’.

I am the season that fucks, and you know it, you ungrateful assholes.

All I’m saying is that if you gave me a half a chance, I think I’d become the bespoke season you’ve all been waiting for. Just keep your idiot tongues away from frozen poles. I mean, c'mon, that’s totally on you.

Signed,

Winter


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