It’s the time in the summer where I am craving one of two things- to either be at the beach, or for it to be tights weather. Anything in between is just boring and tired and I am o-v-e-r it. I guess that’s a similar sentiment by the masses of people that flee cities during summer weekends- it’s just too dang hot and stuffy, your soul can’t breathe. (Is this just an East Coast problem? I don’t know.) You feel suffocated being inland. I honestly don’t think I could live in a land-locked state, I already feel way too far away from the water as it is (and it’s only 45 minutes to my go-to body of water, The Chesapeake Bay).
And then… the thought of the first smell of fall in the air makes your entire body and mind smile. Tights weather… I can hear ladies across the nation making a collective “ahhhhhh…” That first day in the fall where it is cool enough to slip on a pair of tights means so much; then end of regularly having to shave for a few months, new wardrobe combinations, boots and dresses, boots and skirts, boots and anything. Tights weather holds so much promise.
And then it’s February, and you are so dang sick of having to check and make sure no one is looking so you can yank up your tights because they have fallen to just above your knees for the 14th time that day, and you think “ahhhhh, no-tights, take-me-to-the-sea weather is just around the corner.”
I love the East Coast.