What is it about the sun that causes us to completely lose all rationale and live in a prolonged state of denial? I see girls, clearly under a state of mild sunstroke, traipse around the campus at dusk, still in full summer attire. They ignore the goose bumps sprouting from their arms in a futile attempt at capturing a pocket of insulating air. Squirrels still frolic around, and somehow seem a little cuter and less troublesome.
There is a simple formula to follow concerning what to wear directly proportional to sky colour. White/Grey/Black = Overcoat and thermals. Blue = As little as possible. Fashion conscious students can take pride in having packed all those spaghetti strap tops, sleeveless shirts, and minis even though just months ago it was snowing all the time. They had the foresight and vision I hope to possess one day.
Oh, summer sunshine! Wasn’t it arduous enough to prepare my face for the day? Behold, ‘De-fuzzing season’ has arrived. The razors are whipped out and every hair follicle shaved or plucked from existence. “It keeps me warm” is no longer an acceptable excuse for legs with a piliferous topography. I even have to think about what my feet look like. Comfortable trainers tossed aside, I too follow the crowd and subject my feet to flip-flops. Four blisters and two packets of plasters later, I am still defiant. I can walk just as comfortably in them as any tailor-made, aerodynamically altered comfort-fit sneaker. Bare-armed apparel reveals my avoidance of analog watches. I try to shield attention from my $12 Casio Illuminator digital watch by wearing every bracelet and bangle I own. They jingle and jangle at every slight movement. I’m OK with that. It’s not annoying, really.
This time of year can be seriously damaging to those with already low self-esteem. I feel like I’m participating in some reality show as I walk down High Street; shirtless audiences surely following me with their eyes, munching popcorn from their rooftops. I expect cameras and microphones to come from behind the bushes at any minute. I decide to dust down the bicycle in the basement as a means of quickly evading the perched cardinals above. A bit of oil here, slight handle adjustment, and I’m ready to creak my way to lectures. I reach the pedestrian crossing and take a moment to dislodge the patch of skirt that has become mangled in the chain.
I stand wearied while convertibles Doppler shift their bassy jungle music past me. Right hand on the wheel, left elbow dangles over the side, eyes shrouded by dark shades. All of a sudden, everyone’s giving rides. I push back the increasingly sweaty hair from my eyes, leaving oil stains on my face. Next day I reach for the shortest skirt at hand for maximum cooling throughout the day. “This skirt is even more practical than jeans,” I tell myself, as it wades around my waist by the time I’m done cycling to North College.
The act of drinking water has been revolutionised. Everywhere I look I see students with their oversized refillable water bottles. It’s now très uncool to quench your thirst from anything other than a transparent flask. It’s also forbidden to conceal them; they must be carried separately by their owners, usually dangling from either hand like camel drivers in the Sahara.
I realise that the crusty fawn growth along the streets is actually grass as it slowly regains its green familiarity of home. Blossoms burst open and fall to the ground in piles of pink and cherry colour. Wasps and bees crash into me from all angles. I realise there are trees on campus. I discover I actually have a garden out the back of the house. From eating at Mocon and microwaving packets of noodles, we have suddenly donned the aprons and evolved into master chefs throwing barbeque parties nightly, actually believing we can cook.
It’s bright when I get up; it’s bright when I come home. My retinas have a hard time adjusting to the darkness of inside after enduring the bright sunshine outdoors. I refuse to turn on the lights indoors, it just seems wrong. Instead I squint my way through chapters of physics in the dark. Guilt overcomes me from being inside at all. But it is warm in here too. I take my books and join the others outside the library on the grass. I twist and turn my body into creative gymnastic positions as different limbs slowly turn numb as I lean on them. Flies land between the covers, flutters of wind bend the pages, and I can’t see the type anymore. Frisbees wing their way over my head, and I take a sip of sun-heated water from my flask. I try to convince myself that I’ve covered adequate amounts of material thus far. I realise there is a large grass stain on my new white skirt.
Inside I can think clearly, away from the deadly rays of irrationality that sweep across campus striking down students in its path. In here I am in control. I hear laughter and shouts of fun from outside. I peek out the window. OK, five more minutes outside, then I’ll get down to work. I promise.
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