Guys. Fall starts next week. That’s right. Time to put away the bikinis and put on the boots.
It also means it’s time to pack up your summer fling. Summer is for funsies relationships. The kind that are simply not meant to last. With his sandy blonde hair, vacant grin and vacuous mind, he may have been the perfect summer indulgences.
But, autumn is not time for simple indulgences. It’s the time for serious candidates only. Someone you could stand being trapped inside a cave with for the next six to nine months. It’s science.
It’s more than needing someone who can hunt, gather, and provide for you as the frigid winds whistle outside your dwelling. Your window to meet someone snaps shut as you shift into hibernation mode. No one is leaving the house in sub-zero temps, so you may be stuck with your pretty dolt for another year if you don’t move fast. Plus, there’s the false sense of foreverness that sets in when you’re cuddled together under a wool blanket in front of a fire.
You don’t want to mistake hibernal convenience for true love. I made that mistake years ago when I fell for someone who lived in the same apartment complex for me. It was a particularly rough winter. A series of storms left many stranded at home, so it made sense to date someone I could trudge across the parking lot to meet. He had a mild pill problem and was not terribly into me, but boy did I mourn for the convenience when the empty future made itself apparent.
It also doesn’t help that autumn marks the end of wedding season. You’ve spent the entire summer watching couple after couple confess their love in front of a room full of people they vaguely know. A room you sat in with your dumb little bunny and he likely started to look better and better
One year, I was feeling so lonely. My heart as brittle as the leaves beneath my feet. So brittle that I—and I can admit this now because I’m married. And drunk. It’s probably mostly because I’m drunk. Anyway. My tender heart was in such an autumn state that Courtney Stodden’s pumpkin patch photoshoot underscored the fact that I was going to die alone with only my cat to celebrate lesser holidays with. That’s right. A broken 17-year-old girl and her pervie 50-something husband elicited pangs of jealousy in my pumpkin-spiced heart.
I’m not proud. It was a tough year.
What I’m saying is, I get it. It can be tempting to pair off. The pool seems to be dwindling as everyone starts donning sweaters and skipping the beach. But that is a lie. They will all be back next year and you don’t have to settle for less just because he happened to be the last available chair at the end of August. Hell, there will be plenty of opportunities before the winter fully takes hold.
There will be sexy Halloween zombies, which are apparently exclusively women. Don’t worry, ladies, you can always go for the sexy zombie killers.
And sexy Christmas confessions.
And sexy New Year’s confetti.
Essentially, there will always be Andrew Lincoln. So don’t settle for less than you deserve just because you’re feeling relationshippy. Unless your summer fling is a dreamy Greaser you can tame with a pair of leather pants. Then wife that man up.
