October is a goddamn lie and I’m here to prove it

Dear October,

It’s October 1st today, and after having survived forty Octobers as of this year, I have something to say:


You’re basically a huge fucking lie. Every year, I fall for it. “Ohhhhh, it’s fall! Time for cool, crisp weather, and pretty leaves, and Halloween!”

A little surprised at this hot take, especially after all of the “Happy October!” love you’re getting today? Let me break down why you’re a bullshit month point by point:

The weather

All I want to do come October 1st is wear boots. Yes, BOOTS. Maybe rock a cool infinity scarf. Any why wouldn’t I? Boots and infinity scarves are the only women’s fashion associated with October and those bitches look HAPPY. They might even be wearing fleece-lined leggings. But, unless I want a nasty case of sweaty boot rash, I can’t do it. Why? BECAUSE YOU’RE A FUCKING LIE, OCTOBER, THAT’S WHY!!!!!

Even if we don’t suffer the usual early October heat wave with temperatures in the 90s, every year we are forced to exist in warm weather (upper 70s at least). And what makes you different from all of the other months, October? Well, for one, I’m not pummeled with constant warm seasonal beverages and pictures of blissful women wearing boots and infinity scarves! Which are LITERALLY the only things to buy right now except for comical wine-themed t-shirts.

You know what else you get with this fucking d-bag of a month? Those people in public who are SUPER happy that the weather is still warm. “How are you today?” “Oh, great. Isn’t it wonderful that the warm weather is holding up?”


It is NOT great that the warm weather is holding up. What are you even doing in this weather, anyways? Are you hitting the beach in October? Everyone is working or in school, yet somehow these motherfuckers are SUPER happy that they can walk down the street with the blistering asshole that is the sun glaring in their faces.

The fall feeling

All of these images of foliage are great, but here’s what I see in my yard: A PILE OF DEAD LEAVES. That’s right. Because the weather is so unforgivably hot that the leaves just kind of crumple off the trees. And you know what’s hard to do in eighty degree weather? RAKE.

This is why you’re basically propaganda in the form of a month, October. You LIE. None of the things that the world tells me I should want feel good in October. Flannels. Pumpkin spice lattes. Festive ear-flap beanies. Candles. Candy corn.

That’s right, October. I can’t even enjoy CANDY CORN. Because if I leave the bag in my car for more than twenty minutes, it’s basically a puddle of materials that no human should ingest, and then I’m forced to read the ingredients and FUCK YOU, OCTOBER, YOU FORCED ME TO READ THE INGREDIENTS OF CANDY CORN AND NOW MY LIFE IS RUINED.


Hey, you know when Halloween is? Because, when I see of of these happy go-lucky posts about how awesome it is that you (October) are here because that means Halloween is here, I have to laugh. Derisively.

Because October is still THIRTY DAYS AWAY. That’s right. It might as well be November. If Halloween were October 3rd (the only good day of October, other than years when The Simpsons airs its Treehouse of Horror in October), I’d get it. But it’s not. It’s literally the end of the month. And people don’t even celebrate until nighttime, so it’s really the last FEW HOURS of the month.

You know what’s hard to do in eighty degree weather, other than everything else I’ve already said? Cuddle under a blanket and watch a horror movie. Blankets are getting NOWHERE near this right now. You know what else is hard and also gross? Holding hands. My skin is constantly ablaze with not only sweat from the hot weather, but with rage that this hot weather is STILL HAPPENING in October.

You see, it’s all about expectations. I expect summer to be hot. I can buy dresses and swim suits and patriotic popsicles in the summer. You need to own up to it, October. You’re basically just a sweaty November with a really good farewell party.

So, it’s over. You’ll be getting the papers (and by papers, I mean my own feces smeared on a fall Land’s End catalog) this week. I’m almost forty years old now and I need to really think about my future, October. And my future is November.

Sorry / not sorry.


K. Alice Sandry