Summer is practically synonymous with sunscreen, ice cream, and barbecues. I mean, I can already smell the bbq bacon cheeseburger coming fresh off the charcoal grill and it’s not because I am eating a cheeseburger at 10am.
Or it is, the jury is still out.
With each season, there is a specific scent we associate with it. Normally I’m all for it, because scents mean that there is food somewhere in the vicinity, and that’s never a bad thing.
But I have a bone to pick with one particular scent/flavor/permeation that really just makes me angry, because it’s trying to be the favorite, and I learned in kindergarten that being the teacher’s pet meant getting special treatment, and then everyone hates you.
I’m about to drop some high voltage knowledge bombs about this goddamn pumpkin spice obsession.
I’m not going to say I hate it, because hate is a word I reserve for push button faucets and people who talk in elevators.
I’m just not all up in pumpkin’s face asking it to hang out with me. I don’t let it have a special season, because that’s how egos grow, and I need pumpkins to know their place in this world.
Frankly, I just think that pumpkins are jedi mind tricking us all into thinking we NEED them in our lives, creating demand during the fall solstice. Whoever is marketing for the pumpkins of the world, reveal yourself! I need you on my team, you could probably take this here blog to new heights and help me achieve my dream of being married to Danny McBride and Jimmy Fallon at the same time.
Seasonal privileges are for treats that make you feel like you’re going to vomit if you so much as look at another piece. Like candy corn. It’s a scientific law that candy corn has to get the hell out of your life by October’s end, because you start to see all foods in a tri-color hierarchy of white, yellow, and orange.
Let me make this perfectly clear, there are rules set in place that have been there for hundreds of years. They were rules created by the bromagnons and the bromosapiens to protect our taste buds from over-indulgence.
In order to be a seasonal treat, you have to follow a strict criteria, which goes as follows:
1. It must be a treat that is solely used or consumed during a specific season.
ie. candy canes, candy corns, peeps, eggnog.
2. You must want to vomit after over-consumption of said treat.
Ever tried drinking Eggnog after December? It’s almost impossible. It’s at this time you may actually realize that it doesn’t even taste that good to begin with, and you’ll regret all of it. Eggnog = regret. Remember that.
3. You can’t be a gourd.
Plain and simple, they are a decorative item in a cornucopia. You can’t have your own season if you’re part of a fucking cornucopia.
4. As a seasonal treat, you have to have absolutely no value to the outside world after your said season is over.
You don’t see candy canes trying to make an appearance on Valentine’s day, or Peeps trying to squeeze their demonic candy crusted bodies into your summer pool party. They know their place, they don’t want to be in the pool with you, they want to be there when you’re running around your house trying to find where your mom ninja-hid all the colored eggs.
There you have it. A tale as old as time, a song as old as rhyme. Pumpkins, go back to your hole in the ground, ya gourdy betch. You don’t deserve your own season; not on my watch.
Now let me go finish my breakfast cheeseburger.