Can it be? Do mine eyes decieve me? Have the leaves already turned color and given up on clinging to their branches? Is the cold north wind an illusion or is it ACTUALLY the end of autumn already?
I hate winter.
I hate the snow, I hate the gloves, the scarves, the thick woolen socks, the snowmen, the snow angles, the shoveling, the sliding, the falling, the cramping, the shivering, the frost, the ice, the layering, the slipping, the cold-ankles-deep-in-snow feeling, the teeth chattering, the knees buckling, the frozen ears, fingers and toes, the scraping and brushing of snow on the car, the howling wind, the radiators, the runny, drippy rudolf noses, the untangling of Christmas lights, the carol singers, the pumping of gas in inhumane temperatures, the flaking and drying of skin, the added time it takes to get ready, the getting into a freezing cold car, the static electricity, the heavy coats, the heavy boots, the great delights of having hat head, the sensation you experience when your fingers get stuck to the metal mailbox, the too-cold-to-talk-properly-and-sounding-like-a-douche phenomenon, the slow driving, the gravel sprinkled on ice, the snow that eventually turns black from being mixed with the gravel, dirt and mud, the nauseating feeling you get when you hit the brakes and your car doesn’t slow down soon enough and you think you’re going to crash – I HATE IT ALL.
For those of you who like winter, stfu about it or I will hurt you.
*on their cell phones*
George: Hey gorgeous, having a good time?
Julianne: Not particularly. But, I did what I came to do.
George: What, you split them up?
Julianne: No.. I said goodbye.
George: Good girl. I’m proud of you. I’d be prouder still if you were dancing.
Julianne: Oh I have big plans for dancing… just give me 30, 35 years.
George: The misery, the exquisite tragedy. The Susan Hayward of it all. I can just picture you there, sitting alone at your table in your lavender gown.
Jullianne: Did I tell you my gown was lavender?
George: Hair swept up. Haven’t touched your cake. Probably drumming your fingernails on the white linen tablecloth, the way you do when you’re really feeling down. Perhaps looking at those nails thinking: ‘God, I should have stopped in all my evil plotting to have that manicure, but it’s too late now.
Jullianne: George, I didn’t tell you my dress was lavender.
George: Suddenly, a familiar song. And, you’re off your chair in one, exquisite movement… wondering, searching, sniffing the wind like a dapple deer. Has God heard your little prayer? Will Cinderella dance again? And then, suddenly, the crowds part and there he is: sleek, stylish… radiant with charisma. Bizarrely, he’s on the telephone. But then, so are you. And then he comes towards you… the moves of a jungle cat. Although you quite correctly sense that he is… gay… like most devastatingly handsome single men of his age are, you think… what the hell. Life goes on. Maybe there won’t be marriage… maybe there won’t be sex… but, by God, there’ll be dancing.
— My Best Friend’s Wedding
***I love this movie.