A Hate Letter to November

Dearest November,

I hate you.

Let me start with the fact that you try to act like you’re part of my favorite season, fall, when you really aren’t. I mean, technically, sure; but all the leaves are basically gone from the trees and the color brown steals the show for thirty days. You paint the entire landscape in one giant, monotonous shade of shit, leaving no color or fun for us to look at for the entire month. That’s not the fall I know and love. You crumple my high spirits from September and October just like all the dead leaves you leave scattered everywhere for me to rake up.

Which brings me straight into my next point of contempt for the mundane month of November: fall leaf raking. Screw. Dat. Shyeet. It’s not terrible when you first bust out the rake in early-October and work up a sweat in the beautiful sixty-degree sunshine. By the time November rolls around though, the novelty has completely worn off. I don’t want to be piling up these damn leaves every other day in thirty-degree weather with frigid, gale-force winds ruining all my hard work. I look up into your trees and see absolutely no sign of life, yet day after day you somehow find shit to shed on my lawn. Raking up your leaves feels like brushing a Labrador’s hair, except you’re nowhere near as cute as a Lab and a rake is a lot heavier than a brush.

We already established the fact that you’re not fall but you also are NOT winter. Like seriously, November, who do you even think you’re fooling? You barely bring any snow to us regardless of our pleading beggaries to end this limbo and lead us back to the slopes. And when you do give us the slight taste of snow, it is gone within a day due to your half-assed attempts at actually staying cold enough to let it stick around for us to enjoy. Your blasé, noncommittal attitude toward everything makes me sick. Are you fall? No. Are you winter? No. THEN WHAT EVEN ARE YOU?! The only thing you can fully commit to is being windy for thirty days straight. And I don’t think I need to get started on how much everyone HATES WIND. Why don’t you take your wishy-washy ways and go hang out with February while we revel in the real winter months of December and January?

But Evan, what about Thanksgiving…? What about Thanksgiving?! It’s just a pit stop on the way from Halloween to Christmas. I mean, I enjoy a random Thursday off to drink beer and watch football as much as any other American, but do we seriously have to serve turkey and other shitty holiday foods while we’re at it? If the pilgrims had brought over some General Tso’s chicken and smothered enchiladas we may have a different story. But since they opted for the driest bird meat on the planet and insipid orange tubers, I think I’ll keep my thanks and send them to Mexico, Italy, and Southeast Asia. “Do you want white or dark meat?” No gracias – I’ll stick with one heaping portion of stuffing and wait till the oven opens up to pop in a Totino’s.

Oh, and did I not yet even mention elections? ‘Nuff said.

October and December, I apologize that you have to be the buns sandwiching in the shittiest, bleakest, most lifeless month of the year.


With love and the sincerest hope for a quick November passing,


One thought on “A Hate Letter to November

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