Fall has fallen. And bitches, it’s prime pumpkin spice time.
Now is the time for all nutmeg, cinnamon, ginger, and whateverthefuck to spice up our lives as lattes, breads, muffins, cookies, candles, cosmetics, air fresheners, and some weird shades of orange-brown. We will eat pumpkin spice. We will smell pumpkin spice. We will breathe it, and we will wear it. You cannot stop us. You cannot overcome us. We love fall, and we are legion.
Our season has come.
We shall don our uniforms of high boots and fluffy scarves. Perhaps we will wear puffy vests. Perhaps you can shut the fuck up, Kyle, because we don’t care if it’s still seventy degrees outside. God. It’s fall. We get to wear fall clothes. No, we will not “put on some shorts.” It’s high-boots-and-fluffy-scarf season. We shall wear those boots and scarves (preferably plaid) while holding a pumpkin-spice latte (preferably from Starbucks or the independent coffee seller of our choice). Then we shall sit outside in a brisk breeze (or at least pretending the breeze is brisk) and eat pumpkin spice bread with mom friends while our children frolic in piles of leaves.
IDGAF if the leaves are green and there aren’t really any piles, Madison. Mommy says frolic!
Our Time Has Come
Back-to-school has ended with its rush of school supplies, permission slips, and messy yoga pants. The Holiday Season™ has not yet begun with its avalanche of presents, carols, and Christmukkah Clothing Accessories. We’re in that sweet spot. It’s pumpkin spice time, bitches — a time of rest. A time to pause. A time to watch leaves fall softly while sipping flavored lattes and gazing contemplatively from newly-frosted windows.
This time of year is not about doing shit for other people. Instead, we pause to don our long-sleeved apparel, wear out every Starbucks gift card we’ve received all year, and snarf carbohydrates. We stroll Target and examine muted shades that carry us, somehow, back to 1998. Any physical activity whatsoever demands flannel, preferably in plaid. Flannel shirts! Flannel scarves! Flannel sheets!
Yes, flannel sheets, Kyle, because it’s cold and we like to be snuggly and haven’t you ever heard of hygge? Huh? You’ve got Google, Kyle. Get out a fuzzy blanket while you’re in the linen closet, too. Hygge it up, my bitches.
We can finally deploy those fat-ass candles we’ve been hoarding all year. Most will smell like pumpkins. Some will smell like apple cider or chai or bonfire or brown sugar vanilla. Why brown sugar vanilla? Because we like it. We will burn those candles and you’ll walk in and say, “What’s that smell?” and we’ll say, “It’s a candle.”
Do you know why bitches love pumpkin spice so much, Kyle? It smells like fuck you, that’s why.
We Will Be The Most Basic Of Bitches
We know our high boots and scarves and vests and giant purses and sunglasses make us basic. We DGAF. We will be so basic with our fall uniforms and giant-ass candles and penis-shaped gourds. We will say things like, “Did you smell that new Pumpkin Banana Scone Yankee candle?” and “OMG, did you try the new Apple Crisp Macchiato?” We will buy pumpkin spice lip balm, and apple pie lip balm, and brown sugar lip balm, and possibly limited-edition pumpkin spice lipstick shades. Our coffees will be elaborate and enormous and you will not stop us.
We will huff autumn leaves. They will crunch underfoot.
And in this Time of Covid™, you will know us by our seasonally appropriate masks, our seasonally-scented hand sanitizer, and our seasonally scented hand lotion. We will be so fucking seasonally scented that anyone we pass within six feet of will think they smell pumpkin spice latte.
We Will Eat And Drink The Foods Of Our People
We will pour fall-appropriate flavorings into our morning coffee. We will eat fall-appropriate breads for our breakfasts. We will warm apple cider for our children and they will look at us, big-eyed, and say, “Parent of Indeterminate Gender Or None At All, why do we not have this delicious beverage all year?”
Because it only comes during pumpkin spice time, urchins.
We shall fall into two warring camps: Candy Corn Eaters and Candy Corn Haters. The former shall snarf bags of Brach’s on the sly and the latter shall ridicule them for eating something that tastes like hyper-sweet vanilla frosting. But we shall all beg, borrow, and especially steal Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups. Our children suddenly come into a startling large number of them. They can’t be allowed to eat so many. They won’t notice if we munch some.
Scarf those Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups with your pumpkin spice latte. Feel your scarf become floofier and your purse larger and your boots somehow even more basic.
Do All The Fall Things
March your moppets to the pumpkin patch and photograph them picking pumpkins you will set on your front steps. Drink warm apple cider while you do so. Take a hayride past the scarecrow photo op. Reluctantly pay for the corn maze even though your seven-year-old will get lost and start crying somewhere in the middle of it, and you and your basic-ass boots will have to brave the labyrinth to track them down. But you will do it all without spilling your caramel apple cider, because it’s pumpkin spice time, when a gently chilled breeze rattles bright autumn leaves, and you resist every urge to pour a hot latte over people’s heads.
Pretend you do not hear their pleas for homemade Halloween costumes. Light those candles up. Snuggle under a blanket and when Kyle asks if you’re hot tell him to turn up the fucking air conditioner. Dump some apple cider creamer into that coffee. Throw it in a thermal mug. Read something cozy and probably trashy, like a sort of bodice-ripping version of ‘Hamilton.’ Do it for you. This time of year, you deserve it.
This article was originally published on