October has always been my favourite month as far back as I can recall that I felt the need to have a favourite month*.
Fall leaves, Hallowe’en, warm sweaters and everyone cranky over the coming winter. Ahh, lovely fall.
*which is odd since I don’t have favourite anything else, and actually dislike it when people ask me what my favourite movie is, or band, or colour or pie flavour. And we all know those annoying bullies who insist that you most certainly do have a favourite whatever and demand that you declare it immediately, and so you just repeat whatever he said because he’s your boss and much, much, larger than you. And then some wiener at a party brings up that deserted island thing and forces you to declare the only three items you would have with you and then the hostess informs you that you aren’t allowed to hit him, flick him in the head or mash your plastic cup on his cheek. So instead you make shit up like: a first aid book, a practical guide to camping and Miles Davis, because I don’t care who you are any favourite song with lyrics would eventually drive you insane, to which the wiener then says, no that’s cheating and thus in spite of the consequences, you flick your soggy shrimp on a toothpick at him and walk away.
