What Do You Mean It’s The End of Summer?!?!

Summer was too short.

Summer IS too short.

I’m Canadian so I mean it.

When summer already feels too short (and it does, I said it so it’s established) Labour Day (or Labor Day to my American friends) should not be allowed to fall on the first weekend of September. Or, to be technical, within a few days’ of August’s end. This is morally and ethically wrong. It’s perhaps not WalMart Labor Practices or Bangladeshi Factory Conditions wrong but it’s a kind of wrong that must be kicked in the ass and righted.

Does this early Labour Day mean I can no longer wear white? Not that this cramps my style but I’m still asking. My white shirts need to know how despondent they should be feeling. My seersucker suit (and damn, it’s a fine custom tailored suit) WANTS TO KNOW.

Yes. Rules are meant to be broken. Especially bad rules. I think we all agree with this. You just need the confidence to pull it off. Or, at least, the moral authority. (or a really dashing seersucker suit…)

So here’s a rule that SHOULD be broken in years where the calendar has the audacity to pull off what it’s pulled off here: Labour Day shall NEVER fall within 5 days of the end of August. (I would also like to apply this rule to the Jewish Holidays but I might need help to fight 5,000 years of well documented history, while Labour Day was enacted by an act of a very guilt-ridden Congress to appease American workers after President Grover Cleveland (and pause, here, for a second, to acknowledge how awesome it would be to have another leader – any leader – named Grover once again) busted a union in a most egregious fashion – meaning Labour Day is fudgeable).

Summer was too short.

It was fucking short. Like the shorts the girls wore this summer. Which they might not any more because it is no longer summer. At least where I live.

But then, I’m thankful I’m no longer in school. I’d be lamenting the end of summer AND trying to keep up with @Vodka_samm. Because I would. Try that is. And I would fail. Man, would I fail. But it would be a glorious kind of failure. The perfect way, perhaps, to kick off the fucking fall.

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