Now I know summer is really over. The Mister Softee wagons are gone. They've made the long, sad ride back to the warehouses in the Bronx where they sleep for the long winter. No more maniacal carnival music enticing children to consume copious amounts of sugar and, frankly, it makes me kind of morose. I really love the summer months. I am a barefoot kind of girl and now, I have to buck up for the slow descent into slogging through snow and wearing fifty layers of clothing. Maybe a cute pair of suede kitten heel boots will make me feel better.

Anyway, it was more than the freaky sudden disappearance of the Mister Softee wagons. There were other signs that summer had, in fact, left the building:

-I've scoured every aisle and I can't find self tanning towelettes at Duane Reade
-I'm not too concerned about setting up my next waxing appointment
-That cold middle of the night realization it's time to get my leather and fur trimmed coats to the dry cleaner immediately
-Soup starts to seem like an appealing meal option
-The crap reality TV shows you've watched all summer have offered up their series finale shows..three weeks ago
-You haven't put the air conditioner on in two weeks
-Suddenly, you're not caring that your pedicure is starting to look a bit ratty
-That you can walk the entire island of Manhattan on a Saturday and not find a sausage and pepper stand
-The last of the French rose wine is on sale at Bottle Rocket
-You have an intervention with yourself to pack up the sandals for storage
-Aw, Christ...Pantyhose.