I look forward to the first day of summer about as much as an aetheist who’s allergic to chocolate looks foward to Easter Sunday.
Sure, sure, it’s another beginning. But it’s the beginning of hot. Rather, the offical beginning of hot, the day that marks everyone’s offical right to wear flip flops and get all party-crazy.
Why do people move more when it’s hot?
I’ll never be able to understand this fascination with heat. Never.