White Sangria Popsicles

The feeling of the first day of September is always 

what I imagine turning 50 will feel like.

It sneaks up on you like a little jerk

and then you have no choice but to greet it with handsome

amounts of destain and denial.

I'm there right now. 

I'm cursing under my breath at every social media mentioning of

"sweater weather and pumpkin flavored everything!"

Every advertisement for apple cider and every email 

from a professor is met with the meanest of mugs

from yours truly.

It's not fall, dammit! It's still summer. 

That's my equivalent of saying 

"I'm not over the hill! I'm young and super fresh!"

And instead of buying a sports car,

I ran to the farmers market and buried myself in summer fruits

and made some damn popsicles. 

Because if I'm eating popsicles, it can't be fall, right?

Correct. 

These aren't just any old fruit popsicles. 

No sir. 

They are winey boozy popsicles. 

Because what goes best with destain and denial?

Wine and booze. 

Always. 

They are essentially white summer sangria on a stick. 

If you can't get down with that, you

are super un-American

and also, probably a robot

and your demon creator forgot to insert your "good taste" chip. 

My condolences. 

Raise your pops, ladies and gents and let's all hold off on riding the 

leaves-and-sweaters-enthusiasm train

 for just a few more precious moments. 

Here is a tiny playlist to take you on
 the emotional roller coaster 
begining with joy and ending with ugly-crying to Don Henley 
that perfectly embodies this sad descend away from 
another beloved summer.

Until the next, cats.