unfaithful lover

I swear, if you could attribute a gender to the seasons, summer would most definately be a man. He is the most unfaithful lover. He comes and then he goes. One night he's all inviting and intimate, the next night he's sending an icy breeze in your direction. (hmmm... don't look now, but that sounds more like a PMS-y woman) I'm also choosing not to recognize the last statement that was made, and continue to say that summer is a bi-polar male lover. 

Of course, the real problem with this whole scenario is that it is still May. This fact just blows my whole tyrade out of the water. Being as its still May, it means that it is not officially summer at all, but, in fact, still spring. But... but the other night it was summer... It was summer in my heart, and that's what really matters! Right?

Wow, I just realized that this fell to a new level. Not only is summer (which is not actually summer) my unfaithful lover, he is also not here but here, but only because I feel that way. I am starting to sound even more like the stereotypical "woman" about whom men talk. You know, in the exact way in which I am stereotypically talking about "men," or in this instance, summer, who is a man. OMGosh! Did you understand that? Maybe, if you are an understanding woman (if anybody even reads this! and that's a big if) you will know exactly what I just said. Otherwise, I don't expect anybody to understand. (Except for summer of course. He must understand and act accordingly--or at least pretend like he understands.)

Oh well. Suffice it to say, summer is in the doghouse right now. He's not really sure why, because he's not here yet, but do I ever know! He knows too, but only because I'm already mad at him. The reason for my tantrum will never be understood by him, but he does know that the only way out is with flowers and chocolates. But not too many chocolates, or I will eat them all and feel fat. And THAT will put him back in the doghouse. Oh, and by flowers and chocolates I really mean warm breezes and sunshiney days (with a few picture clouds). He is also expected to be able to interpret that. Well, I just read the forecast for tomorrow and its calling for a high of 76, which might just get him out of the doghouse, but not back in the bedroom. Seventy-six is good enough for sleeping on the couch. It's a start. A small one, but still, a start.