Think about the glory of planning a summer. The forward-looking nature of the enterprise is inherently optimistic. You're at the back end of a long winter and up ahead shining in the middle distance is the summer's three emotionally clustered months. They are so gentle up there, so soft and seductive one tends to forget they're hot. Then comes Memorial Day, a true time of joy, a time of debauched celebration, good light, pitchers of cocktails, and banter.
Someone always ends up in the pool.
By Memorial Day I have always reached my lewdest state. I'm on fire. You really don't want to fuck with me on Memorial Day. Maybe that's because the girls look so fabulous. They've broken out the colors.