93 days, 15 hours and 42 minutes. That’s how long it lasts. I know what you’re thinking, but no, it’s not the legal time frame to have an abortion, or how long it took for you to fail at five attempts to make it through P90X; it’s how long summertime lasts in Chicago.
Everything worth doing in Chicago happens in the summer. Summer is the only thing that makes living through the hell we call Chiberia worth it. From going to music festivals, farmers markets, concerts, baseball games and rooftop bars, to boating, barbecuing and hanging out on the lake, the opportunities for reckless abandon are endless. Please don’t make people waste one of Chicago’s precious 15 summer weekends by going to your mediocre, cookie-cutter, summer wedding. Let’s be honest, more than half of those 93 days feel more like some weird, bipolar cousin of spring, anyways.
Stuck in between the long-awaited freedom of adulthood, balancing substantial student loan debt with just enough cash to enjoy life as a young adult, and the somber mourning phase one enters when you realize that you have been out of college longer than you were actually in it, you’re suddenly faced with an unexpected, yet terrifying fact: people you know are getting married and having babies. A lot of people.
Soon your fridge fills up with over-sized and unwelcome (read: hideous) “Save the Date” reminders. (That very fridge that you swore you would never let become cluttered with lame invitations like your parents fridge was.) Once you finish penciling in weekend after weekend of bachelor(ette) parties, wedding showers, rehearsal dinners, destination mother-fucking weddings… you quickly realize that your summer calendar (and bank account) has been left in shambles. You can’t possibly squeeze in all the fun activities and events you dreamed of all winter in what few pathetic weekends remain. Every trip to the mailbox is filled with terror and dread as you pray your college roommate’s brother will have the decency to not get married the weekend of Lollapalooza, the one precious weekend that remains untainted.
The only feelings you have towards summer now are resentment and hopelessness, as you find yourself mourning the loss of your long anticipated summer events like, “The Lake Michigan Exotic Fish Festival” and “Turtle Racing and Hammerschlagen on the Beach”. You begin to dream about fall and all of its basic-ness. At least you will be able to drink your pumpkin spice lattes, while wearing Ugg boots and cable knit sweaters in peace, without the fear of needing to abandon your closest friend, NetFlix, to attend yet another monotonous wedding.
So please family and friends, from one Chicagoan to another, consider tying the knot in the winter. It will bring a breath of fresh air to an unbearable season and give people a reason to live for something other than their cats. After all, wouldn’t you rather people be happy to have a reason to brave the harsh winter to attend your event of the season, rather than disdainfully throw shade at the overused color scheme while chugging liquor from your open bar so they don’t sweat out ten pounds in their formal wear? Great, me too.