Does the summer smell?

Yesterday, when I went to the grocery store, I noticed that the summer was back.

Now what makes you say that? And, really? You left the house? I thought you were chaining yourself to your desk to keep working on the book like Bill suggested?

Well, after having realized that I was wearing flip flops on my feet and not freezing to death in the car, I figured something was up. Could it be that the car-heater had finally gone from blowing noxious fumes into the car to actually heating it up? I know, a far cry, but in my flip-floppy happiness I considered it. Or was it perhaps my poor feet? Gone completely numb from teetering precariously on a much too small barstool by the kitchen counter all day long, because I thought the office was still too cold to be working in?
And there's no way I could ever chain myself to the kitchen counter. As much for the obvious reason of it being, well, a counter, but also because coffee runs are vital. Vital!

That's it? Is this post going to be about you not wanting to wear socks again? Because you've already written plenty about that, and maybe people want to hear about that as as much as they want to hear about your ear? Ever think of that?

Well... this post is not about me not wearing socks. I promise. And ixnay with the ear. I swear (and this time I'm not perjuring myself either).

But you're still going to write about socks? Really? Didn't you learn anything from that sock-fetishist blog linking to you? Cause I sure did.

Uhm, yes. There was that. Please don't keep reminding me. I'm trying very hard to pretend like I never noticed and didn't have to block nobody. So just hush, will you. I'm really actually going to write about this thing that keeps happening in my hood all the time and I'm not quite sure what to think about it. Or to say about it.

Oooh, so you're finally tackling all of the dirt of the suburbia? What is it? Adultery? Drug addiction?  Swinging? Orgies? Prostitution? Illegal aliens? What? Come on now, dish already. And how exactly is it related to socks?

Wow. Been watching much television lately? Say some Desperate Housewives and Weeds?
I'm actually  talking about something that's out in the open. We don't have none of that stuff here. Well, I think we mostly don't.... Couldn't guarantee though... We are like totally in the heart of SA suburbia. And I've seen some stuff to knock your socks right off your feet. If you know what I mean.

Again with the fokken socks. What's wrong with you? 
Are you finally going to write about all of those tired housewives driving around the estate drunk as skunks with their kids in the backseat? Because, that totally deserves a post. Horrible, I say! And something that seems to get dismissed here far too easily.

Err. Well, no. I think that post would get me the South African equivalent of the fatwa. Or at least I'd be shunned by the 'What happens in the suburbia, stays in the suburbia' crowd, which incidentally is also the 'Tuscan mockitechture is grand' crowd. They would boot my ass off of the estate, and this is where I keep my books, wine and the Hubs, so that would just be unfortunate. I'm staying away from that one. Although, it is a huge problem. And it's really only a matter of time until someone dies.

So what then? Why are socks such a big deal to you anyways, and how exactly are they related to you finding out the summer's back? Since obviously the more commonly known methods of 'looking out of the window', and 'going out' weren't doing the trick for ya.

Don't fret. I'll lay it out for you. See, I walked into the grocery store and sort of expected to see what I've been faced with for months now - people, customers and employees alike, in winter coats, knits, with scarves around their necks... You get the picture. Because, apparently, in South Africa anything below 18º celsius or 65º fahrenheit warrants a comfy down coat, winter boots, gloves and a scarf. However, the sight that met me at the door was rather different: It seems that, overnight (read: since I last left the house, which would have been last weekend) all of the folks in my hood forgot how to put on their socks and shoes. That Pick n' Pay was barefoot central, I tell you.

Wow. What an interesting story. You are so deep and insightful. Do you know what sarcasm means, by the way?

Oh stop it. You're just being mean, because I never let you write. You know, I also noticed that that weird guy whose bedroom balcony is visible from the study window is back to thinking that his house is too hot a place for telephone conversations.

Really? He's back fanning his naked upper body on the balcony again?

Yup. Clear as day. He waved at me too, so now I'm avoiding looking out. He talks a lot on the phone.

If he only took off his boxers too. Then he could be your 'ugly naked guy' a la Friends. That'd be so fokken awesome. You could charge people for the trip down the friendly memory lane. No, wait. My idea. I might want to do that. I call trademark!

So you do nothing but watch television all day long? Is that it?

Aww. Come on. Tell me more about the summer. Could you smell it too?

Nope, but the garden service guys hit me up for some cold water instead of tea, and that's when I definitely saw the light.

Summer's back y'all and I'm loving it!