You thought you were pretty goddamn smart when you washed me, folded me up, and put me in the closet for what you thought was another year, didn’t you?
What did you say while you were doing that, again? Please, remind me. I think it went something like, “Welp, won’t be needing this! Let’s fire up the grill!” How the fuck did that work out for you, buddy? Got any burgers you could share with me while we shovel the driveway together?
It wouldn’t be so bad if this was the first time that you fell for this shit, but year-after-year? It’s kind of sad, bro. Every late-March to early-April you get these delusions in your head of backyard day-drinking, cruising with the windows down, and switching me out for a light cardigan. And where does your failure bring you every time? Back to me.
I will always be here for you because you will always need me. The tank-tops, the shades and the flip-flops are nothing but a short-lived fallacy. By the way, you left your winter boots in the storage room in the basement, douchebag.