HE SAID:
Summer lovin', had me a blast - sort of.
My fleeting romance wasn't so invigorating that I squeezed into extra-small leather and sang its falsetto praises like "Grease." In reality, the affair's peak was one killer spooning session. Otherwise we simply goo-goo-eyed each other and watched terrible movies like "Confessions of a Shopaholic." (Don't worry, I shotgunned a beer immediately thereafter.)
Regardless of the fling's innocence, it was nice to know such effortless affection. I mean, our agendas weren't packed. And that's what those toasty months seem to afford. Most of us are free from the vise of academia, and aside from job or internship duties, social pursuits often top our priorities. It's prime time to throw your game around like Tyrod to Coale.
If you manage to snag a sundress, you and the lady might partake in common summer activities like eating purple Freeze Pops or attending amphitheater concerts - the joys of such things are hard to argue. But the more I analyze dog-days dating, the more I realize my allegiance lies with jack-o'-lanterns' weather.
Consider supposedly pleasant summer outings like picnicking amid flowers or putt-putting on family beach trips. I see past the charm of daisies to the bees they host; their kamikaze leg attacks always turn my twig ankles into two-liters. And somehow I leave the miniature golf course completely dehydrated, simply swaying a club yields Gulf of Mexico pit stains.
Further, I'm not helping intimacy by countering a girl's pool-bronzed skin with an epic Moses-in-the-desert tan. (Shirtless, I could still pass for wearing a white Hanes V-neck.)
Reflecting on those drawbacks - and to the possible dismay of many dudes - I'd trade a bikini for a beanie most any day. That's not to say I don't drool over certain skirts. It's just more appealing to pull a gal in for a smooch by her scarf ends, even though it's likely I'd mistakenly strangle her. There's something playful and coy about glances from behind upturned hooded sweatshirts - or maybe I'm misreading their attempts to ignore me.
And I don't doubt that fall forfeits summer's abandon; a new semester yields various stressors. If you've got a special someone, the relationship's quality time is dissected by club meetings, group projects, (infidelity) and exams. Yet when schedules finally allow it, autumn provides some fun couple leisure.
After a refreshing hike on the Appalachian Trail, you can wreck the rewards of your exercise with a gluttonous feast at the Home Place.
The chilly evening air is ideal for the messiest of s'mores over bonfires. And you obviously have to challenge friends to hurdle the flames, melting sneakers and singeing hair.
With Halloween approaching, it's almost time for wagon rides at the pumpkin patch. The two of you could probably walk to the field faster, but instead you putter along behind the tractor watching noisy children blow their noses into parents' sweater sleeves. You fight through the snot and screams, though, to find that perfect squash. Together you can then carve Frankenstein or a heart containing your initials if you want it smashed against your door overnight.
You can even break it down to childhood basics. Rake colorful leaves into bushels and go crazy. Toss handfuls at each other, inadvertently stabbing the recipient's eyeballs with the pointed edges. Maybe have a contest for the best pile dive. Granted, the one time I did this, I soared into the mound as a cannonball, delivering blunt trauma to my tailbone. I spent the next few days walking like I was in constant search of a bathroom.
Really, I can narrow this seasonal bias to a simple query: Do you prefer being hot and finding ways to cool down, or feeling frigid and searching for warmth? I cling to the latter, not even contemplating the former. I'd much rather shiver in a blanket cocoon with my mate than hold their clammy hand while we curse an oscillating fan. And I have no qualms about forsaking my family name, opting to share steaming cocoa over an iced Arnold Palmer.
Come to think of it, that fossil still plays golf at 80 years old - I bet he could recommend a good antiperspirant. But sweat is now out of sight.
Where's my flannel?
SHE SAID:
My current relationship is like I'm dating Batman.
It's not that he has lots of gadgets, or a butler, or an inexhaustible hoard of money. (He does have a two-seater car, but it's less of a technological marvel and more like a piece of crap.) He's not amazingly flexible, nor does he wear a suit with muscles built into the design. Simply, I never see him during the day.
It's fall now, and we are way too stressed and busy to see each other. There's that obligatory kiss in the morning, where one party has morning nast-breath, and then the frazzled greetings at night where afterwards we bond by complaining about our days. Like two young, star-crossed lovers, we only see each other while shrouded in darkness.
This is pretty sad, considering that we live together.
During the summer, things were different. Tom and I could look at each other's cheesy smiles in the daylight. We took weekend vacations to Hilton Head, S.C., regularly. For hours, we would chum the waters along my dad's boat - OK, chum isn't romantic, but we had the time to wait for the sharks to bite. (We didn't even catch any crabs.) We would illicitly swim at night in neighborhood pools and tool around with the top off in his "tin can," which is secret code for his Batmobile.
This is the nature of summer love. Easy. But the sensuous, cinematic, long days of summer give way to hair-pulling, migraine-inducing, manic days where you barely have time to eat, let alone be "twitterpated." In this onslaught, it's a miracle that some summer relationships still exist into the autumn. Most will fizzle away and leave you with a bittersweet feeling, but the good ones will linger.
Why the "natural selection" of relationships? If you're anything like me, little nuisances in the fall semester drives you to the edge of insanity:
Having to pay $75 for a paperback textbook of stuff you'll never need again in your life is expected.
Having two tests and three papers due in the same week leads you to the epiphany that maybe sleep just isn't the best lifestyle choice.
Being stuck in class beside that pale, sickly girl that you're convinced has kennel cough, and knowing your insurance probably won't cover that particular affliction.
These and other environmental stressors deem that only the strong survive, and that includes relationships.
If your summer love does last into fall, you're lucky. Although now your days with your beau aren't spent admiring their body at the beach, there is something positive about autumn love. Your autumn lover can be your sanctuary.
Yes, you're wearing a turtleneck instead of a tank top, but the awkward fabric that is slowly suffocating you can't keep you from snuggling your sweetie. Since it's cooled off, you can go hiking and not embarrass yourself by almost sweating to death. Especially in Blacksburg, there's always something to do in the fall like movies, shows, festivals - If you can find the time to do these, that is.
Most importantly, you can de-stress in a fall love sanctuary. Love becomes less formal. It's no longer such a big deal if he realizes you have stretch marks and cellulite and aren't always perfect. Your beau can assure you that your neurons aren't melting under the pressure of the semester. He can make you feel like everything will be all right, that you will get everything done, and that yes, your boss should be cruelly fired, and you should get his job.
Or, your man-thing could toss you a beer when you get home from work and insist on simply watching TV and snuggling on the couch. (Don't doubt - Batman is a fan of Natural Ice and cuddle-time.)
Although summer is intimate with its bare body parts and sweltering heat, it's also easier because there's jack else to do. Most of those summer loves will dissipate as soon as fall semester starts driving you to the brink.
But the fall romances that last - they're solid, sweet, and they reveal a guy willing to put up with your neuroses. And that's why they're the best.