Summer Lovin’
Who could say no to Olivia Newton John in black lycra with a sexy perm?
But what about the rest of us? You know; those of us who aren’t prepared to undergo a sexy (albeit submissive) bad-girl makeover in order to prolong our essentially unsatisfying summer fling? Summer is ending, we’re off to university and we’re left, at this time of the year, with nothing to do but to become reacquainted with our favoured hand. It’s this time of the year which has made me realize that to achieve a perfect summer romance you need more than the ability to pash and dash. It is an art.
The start of summer saw many of us leaving Wellington for the bright lights of our hometowns. I left Wellington last year as a runaway from a year’s romance with an odd, but brilliant boy. When things get tough, it’s best to run away. I don’t like this ‘‘confront your issues” nonsense; it’s easier and far more enjoyable to escape.
In an unfortunate move, I made my escape to Christchurch.
There’s nothing romantic about Christchurch. That is, unless Burger King, big exhausts, and solvents are your answer to a rose and a sonnet.
I started my time in Christchurch as I should have continued it: sleeping through most of the day, half-heartedly job hunting, and having nostalgic moments over a glass of cask wine with old friends. After a few weeks this started to grow old.
So, with this column in mind, I decided that it would be prudent to put my days of boredom to good use. In the name of research, I started observing what Christchurch’s youth did to fill their summer days. It soon became clear that leisure time was generally spent doing one of two things: binge drinking or, not coincidentally, fucking.
I decided to follow suit. All in the name of research, of course.
And there he was. “Summer lovin’—happened so fast.” A perfectly nice, fun young thing; he was everything a girl could ask for in a summer romance.
He was also fucking one of my friends.
That didn’t happen in Grease.
It was time to check out some other sources; Grease, it seems, had misled me. I thought my summer days would go by in a whirl of dancing and ice-cream sundaes, but at this point it became clear to me that a lot has changed since the 1950s.
In the attempt to learn the tricks of the trade, I looked at the tangled web of romances going on around me. Turns out I wasn’t the only one whose summer romance turned sour. As the days grew hotter, all of them were falling apart for one reason or another. Sure that this was unrelated to temperature, I got out my notepad and started jotting down the reasons our Sandys and Dannys couldn’t last a summer without heartbreak.
There were lots of cases like mine! One person involved was having summer romances—plural. These flings usually ended with two or three miffed parties battling a confused Casanova. Out of the lot, the dramatic end to these romances seemed to be the least painful. It’s easier to leave your fling miffed than in love, after all.
Worse off were those who found their perfect match over summer, only to have to leave them in January for geographical reasons. I hope, for your sake, that you don’t have one of these lovelorn, broken creatures in your hall or flat. One glass of wine, and they’re crying muffled “Why-y-y oh why”s into your lap.
At the other extreme were those who bedded everyone and anyone, because, you know, “It’s summer.” I saw morals, manners, and sexuality thrown aside in fits of passion which were later excused with those two precious words.
The perfect summer fling, I realised, needs a passionate beginning, a happy middle and an amicable end. I left Christchurch before I had discovered a couple who managed all three, but I didn’t come back jaded beyond my years. I came back instead with the recipe for a perfect summer romance.
Firstly, take a lesson from the Casanovas and find someone who drives you bloody crazy. Then, look to the piners and add some warmth, romance, and sincerity.
Finally, as summer ends, wake up from your summer fling as you would from any one-night stand: confused, sexually satisfied and happy to be going home.
And for those of you who, like me, got it wrong this year- get a column in Salient. Then at least you can bitch about it to 12,000 students
- Article tagged in: Where the wild things are
4 Comments
7 Mar, 2009 at 9:49 pm
“And I can tell you
my love for you will still be strong
after the
Boys of Summer
have gone”
7 Mar, 2009 at 10:27 pm
“Standin’ on your Mama’s porch
You told me it would last forever
Oh the way you held my hand
I knew that it was now or never
Those were the best days of my life!
8 Apr, 2009 at 7:35 pm
Just to surprise my literary grand daughter.
Glad to know she is mixing work and pleasure.
It is good to know that standards have changed and that many young people can have lots of fun without getting to serious about things and only have very short “broken hearts”.
Keep it up Juliet and spread the Gospel
Grandad.
8 May, 2009 at 6:13 pm
Thanks Grandad.
Just letting you know, I didn’t mean it when I said that I’d had sex with men over summer. I am, and will always be, a virgin.