Yellow Glove Season

Yellow Gloves Season With Pumpkins
It is yellow glove season already. It’s here and I am not prepared. I don’t even have a yellow glove basket ready. The yellow glove basket is still down in the laundry room with a mix of winter gloves, hats, mittens, scarves and a stray sock or two. There are still golf balls rolling around in the kitchen drawer and that ridiculous practice club leaning up next to the jackets, and a basket of twenty or so baseball caps in the place where the yellow glove basket will go. I love fall. I love the vibrant colors against the dark sky and the leaves that flutter in the wind and cover up my very non perfect yard and deck that needs staining like there’s no tomorrow. I am fighting the urge at this very moment not to run out and buy ten pumpkins, all different sizes, and yellow, magenta and burgundy mum plants. But the freaking yellow gloves are back. They will be everywhere I go. I will begin my removal of the yellow gloves with the red bands around the wrist, covered in sawdust and smelling of chainsaw gas from every corner of my house. If I want to sit on the couch, there will be a yellow glove. If I make a sandwich, sitting next to the jar of Mao on the counter, there will be a yellow glove. If I run an errand, sitting in the passenger seat of my car, there will be a pair of yellow gloves. When I wash my face for bed and reach for a bar of soap I will bypass a yellow glove. When I pull back my covers and call it a night a yellow glove will land on the bamboo floor next to the bed. I don’t know if there are other wives out there who share this phenomenon but if there are, please let me know. They say that just knowing that you aren’t alone gives you strength. I don’t want to buckle or lose my mind over yellow gloves, there are so many more disturbing and serious travesties all over the world that I should concern myself with. But by next week, if I want to sit on this chair, I will have to remove a freaking pair of yellow gloves, first. The ironic part of my deep hatred of the yellow gloves is that they appear at the beginning of my favorite time of the year and if I were ever to lose the owner of all of those freshly purchased packages of those ever loving yellow gloves, I would not be able to bear the sight of one again. My heart would break in half. Do you know what I mean? [gallery link="file"]

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