Fuck you, on an airplane 20 minutes after the school year ends.
Fuck you, towering stack of beach reads. Pretty sure your kids are drowning.
Fuck you, gelato taste test. Wait—you’re actually in Italy? Of course you are. Vaffanculo.
Fuck you, toddler art camp featuring a café staffed by Intelligentsia baristas who stink-eye me for being craven enough to ask for cream. Maybe I wouldn’t be turning this coffee into a milkshake if it didn’t taste like smoked Brooklyn bile poured over a peaty blue bandana.
Fuck you, shadows on your wife’s bikini cleavage. PSA: the Inkwell filter makes you #AnselAdams as much as my old speedo makes me a mermaid.
Fuck you, Block Island fixie with a basketful of flowers.
Fuck you, yes/no Drake memes about who’s got the best lobster roll in Kennebunkport.
Fuck you, wildflower-meadow wedding. Enjoy it! It’s the last good day you’ll ever have!
Fuck you, cute crudités bento box lunches tucked into adorable anime panda backpacks. My kids eat Cheetos® sandwiches crammed into structurally compromised Emoji Movie Happy Meal® boxes. Come at me, bro.
Fuck you, drinking in the Jacuzzi-slash-hot tub-slash-warm germ bubble bath-slash-perineum wading pool-slash-whatever you are-slash-go to hell-slash-you smell like sperm.
Fuck you, secret remote sun-dappled swimming hole no one knows about. Good luck getting out of there after you break both legs jumping off that dope-ass cliff.
Fuck you, lawn bocce. You’re two dicks short of an orgy.
Fuck you, who wore it better. I’ve been stuck in these clothes since Wednesday.
Fuck you, Tevas. Everyone’s with me on this one.
Fuck you, slo-mo campfires.
Fuck you, slo-mo sparklers.
Fuck you, slo-mo cartwheels.
Fuck you, slo-mo dock dives.
Fuck you, slo-mo kid getting slapped in the face with a largemouth bass. Actually, you can stay.
Fuck you, sweet collection of vintage aluminum lawn chairs. I hope you look like Play-Doh squeezing through that old-ass webbing.
Fuck you, golf on a Tuesday morning. I was at work for 32 hours yesterday.
Fuck you, boat. Every boat there is. All of them.
Fuck you, beachside swimming pool. What, the ocean’s not good enough for you? How about a get-fucked sandwich in between two slices of go fuck yourself?
Fuck you, double rainbow over your best bro’s beach house. How’d I get stuck with all the poor friends?
Fuck you, #blessed.
Fuck. I’m #cursed.
Illustration by Allison Ross