They got September wrong. It’s supposed to be all adult and serious, and back-to-school shoes, and calculators. But forget it, September is a prankster, all endless fun, and summer foreverness. It masquerades as a grown-up, but it’s all barefoot running on the beach, end-of-the-crop corn on the cob, a pair of Ray Bans. “I’m mislabeled,” says September. “I want my freedom.”
And let’s face it, it has the goods. I think September should try and convince the calendar people how it really belongs to summer, not fall. How it should be savored just like July and August. It’s every bit as glamorous and gorgeous. Go, September, get a court date. Secede from the calendar if you have to. I for one will back you.