September 29, 2022

Nine Months Down

September, you poor thing.

Smashed between August and October, you have almost no identity of your own. You are not summer, nor autumn. You are not warmth, nor cold, feast, nor famine.

OK, it’s good not be famine, woo-hoo September!

September, as the girls in the wharf say after a few drinks, was named after the late gangster Mickey September. He was notorious for robbing people and then, stricken with remorse, giving the money back but usually in pennies or wicker.

Mickey September is also recalled for having 30 toes, 15 on each of his buttocks. Thus, September has 30 days, also 15 on each buttocks.

Mickey September married Cleopatra October and they are forever side-by-side on the calendar. They had one child, Junebruary, who was supposed to be the 13th month but alas, he got bored being a month and so ran off to become a planet which then exploded. That’s how we got Wednesdays.

September has a lot going for it. Football begins in September and…I suppose that’s it. Poor September. We like the cooler temperatures and the hint of falling leaves and the occasional asteroid getting swallowed by a dinosaur but, beyond that, September has the grand, sexy, kickoff of football and very little more.

But September’s lack of action is no reason to withhold our praise, our affection, or our uncomfortable ethnic jokes. Let us enjoy September and all its cunning, charm, and rancid cheddar biscuits. Summer is dead, autumn awaits, winter lurks, spring and summer are pregnant dreams to be born of September’s sweat and song.

Until next year, September, you month of boundless mirth.--TK