Despite being caught in the middle of on-going conflict, my mind has not been distracted to the extent that I cannot think of anything else. In fact, I get furious because, for the hundredth time, I'm the one who is making a huge scene out of what appears to be a very minor matter. Steam is practically coming out of my reddened ears by the time that l'objet d'horreur has gotten away, which brings an end to what is usually five minutes of full-on drama. That I created.
Ah, isn't fear such a terrible thing?
As a further blow to my pride, the things which I fear more deeply than yet another airing of a James Bond film on a Saturday afternoon are commonplace at this time of year. Like the ice cream cones and the floor-length maxi dresses which, unknowingly to its wearer, do not disguise the one too many Cornettos consumed from the summer before, my fear is potentially lurking around the corner wherever I go. From popping out to the corner shop to my bedroom, I live in constant fear that terror will seize me if that thing dares to show its gruesome-looking head. Well, if I can even see it without my glasses which, fortunately for my myopia, is best looked at from a long distance.
My fear? Heat-loving and non-stop buzzing flies.
Even by typing the words down, a shiver of ice cold fear - which feels almost as chilling as sticking several ice cubes down my back - slivered up my spine. Thousands of hairs are standing up, awakened to my terror, and an ache unassociated with my breakfast is developing in my stomach. Without needing to go further, I absolutely hate flies and will always reserve some hatred for these unearthly creatures, whose buzzing ways drive me around the bend.
Ever wondered why I don't like the summer? If I haven't told you sooner, now would be the perfect time to fill you in on a few LikeATeen home truths.
- The sun doesn't agree with me. Or, courtesy of my Bella Swan-pale complexion, I don't agree with it. If the sunshine is basking in its glory on a fine summer's day, panic instinctively takes over. There is simply no way that I would dare to leave the house without slathering on bottles and bottles of sunscreen. I am that terrified of getting sunburnt. And, bar a few minor red patches on the top of my forehead and thousands of little bumps on my hand (which have yet to disappear), I've mostly escaped the glare of the sun. Believe me, bliss is mine to cherish whenever the sun stays behind a large grey cloud during the summer - not worrying about SPF and lobster-red skin is a dream come true!
- Only one word describes this object of hatred. Hot, hot, hot! Ouch, nothing hurts more than feeling like I've been chucked into an oven at the highest temperature. Unfortunately, more puffs and sighs have been coming out of my lips of late due to some hotter-than-normal temperatures. Cue frustrated groans and a complexion as greasy as a cheeseburger - my idea of summertime nightmare. And, unlike other countries around the world, the heat hasn't gradually increased, but has instead appeared out of nowhere. Is it any wonder that I, along with the fellow 64 million or so people in the UK, have struggled to adjust to this abrupt spike in temperature? But a noticeable difference still remains: while millions of people cannot get enough of the heat (and the boiling sunshine which typically accompanies it), I forcingly drag myself out of bed each morning. Why get up if another day of sickening humidity awaits me? Then I remember: a cooling Magnum has my name on it.
- Because I'm typically used to being clad in jumpers and trousers all year due to my unclassified status as a human lizard, my wardrobe leans more towards wintery weather than Ibiza-style dresses and flesh-baring crop tops. In the past, I've often complained about splashing out on t-shirts which, after a three day long or so heatwave, would remain unworn until the following summer. So, as an attempt to slow down the aging process (and future reliance on anti-aging creams), I decided against revamping the summer section of my wardrobe this year. And guess what happens? It turns out that I need to be wearing cooler clothing - unless the thought of collapsing whilst donning an arm-length dress doesn't bother me. Part of me now wants to embark on a shopping spree in search of summer-appropriate clothing, but the rest of me is holding back. What if a cold winter is in store for us in a few months' time? Usually, I'm more like to be as cold as a refrigerator than melting like ice cream, but it sometimes changes. If my body is so indecisive about which temperature it should be, is there any hope for my wardrobe?
- Finally, this is my biggest bugbear about the summer. From the age of eight, I've been a firm detester of all things fluttery, buzzy and downright irritating. In other words, I cannot stand flies, bugs and insects of any kind. Their presence simply adds to my dislike of summer which, when the heat is already tiring me out, is an unwelcome distraction. No words spring to mind as to why I have such an agenda against summertime creatures: I just don't like them. And, judging by our instincts to get rid of them, I suppose that most of us don't have a fondness for bugs, flies and whatever walks on more than two legs.