I live in Mississippi. I can handle the summer heat. Ninety-eight degrees and 110% humidity in August? Bring it.

Then the first day of fall rolls around and something inside me snaps. I’m happily scrolling through Instagram when I see someone wrapped in a blanket scarf and I spontaneously combust. Dead. It is 100 degrees here. The leaves aren’t turning. They are begging for water and mercy. If there was a “Fall in the South” candle, it would smell like body odor and defeat.

In an effort to embrace the season, I switched out my summer clothes with autumnal hued tank tops. I painted my nails almost as dark as the place I’m in. I thought about making chili but got light-headed and ate a few ice chips instead. I also tried to harvest our decorative gourds from the storage room. After ten minutes in the oppressive heat, I gave up and took another shower. Fire pits are hot. Pit marks are not.

Speaking of, we attended an afternoon SEC football game. I can only describe the experience as a glimpse into what Hell is like. Good times.

If you are experiencing lovely fall weather, you probably can’t identify. Take the lid off your pumpkin spice latte. Dump it over your head. That is how the interior of my car feels after being parked in the shade for 15 minutes. I apologize for telling you to do that. But it’s like my grandmother always said, it is just too hot to be nice. (She didn’t really say that.)

A few nights ago, there was a noise outside that sounded like a 747 landed on our house. A small animal crawled into our air conditioner condenser unit and met its fate with the fan blades. Clearly it was just trying to cool off. Or maybe it couldn’t go on living in a place with no seasons. I’m sorry if things just got real.

And then like a well-delivered punchline from God, a “cold front” is forecasted. That’s right. The highs this week are expected to be in the upper 80s.

Amen, hallelujah and get the crockpot. It’s fall y’all.