It’s finally here. In North Texas, the skies get the occasional cloud, and the air no longer smells like burning flint. You can touch metal items left in the sun without having to amputate the appendage seared to it. Suddenly, the idea of going outside, even for short periods, sounds like a reasonable concept in a civilized society instead of a ritualized suicide for the worst sorts of societal parasites and degenerates. The calendar may say “autumn,” but it’s only really autumn when the house doesn’t feel like a convection oven and the driveway like a George Foreman grill.
In describing summer in this way, those from outside of Texas may also get an idea of why we tend to go a little crazy over Halloween every year. Can you really blame us? And with five weekends this month, where do we start?