The spicy, fall, candle-esque scent of cozy pleasure?
It’s sweeping in, like an old friend, arms wide, giving us a big hug. But it’s not an old friend. And that hug is getting in my personal space. A space reserved for lovers, or moments of severe sadness and empathy with another.
It wears a broad, clueless, orange smile and it’s crawling all over the human landscape; Even before the natural landscape has had a chance to turn. The cinnamon and nutmeg and earthy scents have parachuted in: A marketing mobile infantry.
The comforting, warming scents of spice injected into our food and drinks, into the icings on our baked goods, swirled into our coffee, and dropped into our beer. Before the cold, before the fall of Fall, the pumpkin spice cocktail has been blasted over us, like pixie dust from a soulless crop duster, or smeared without our consent, like glitter from an aggressive stripper.
It’s culture, and not participating is not an option. Because no sooner have you flinched away from the pumpkin invasion, you are thinking of that pumpkin spice, in your pancakes, in your malty beers. and you shrug, and order your tasty treat, because it doesn’t matter what you think. Culture has embraced the pumpkin.
And so you will, too.