Listen, guys, I hate to be a buzzkill but you know those leaves you go out of your way to drive upstate and look at every year? The ones you oooh and ahhh over cause they’ve turned such pretty shades of red and yellow? They’re dying. That’s why they look like that. They’re fucking dying. And you all just gawk and take pictures like a buncha indecent jerks.
I mean it would be rude to take a picture of someone dying that you just happen to pass on the street. But to rent a Zipcar and go three hours out of your way to do it? That’s some fucking evil shit. And if you’re gonna be such ghouls, at least have the decency to call it what it is. Don’t romanticize it like, “Hey, how ’bout we make a day trip upstate to see the foliage?” Honestly say, “Let’s go admire the last moments of a leaf’s life. Let’s take pics of a tree helplessly watching her babies die.” Then find the nearest mirror and say it again cause you should have to look yourself in the eyes when you do it. Try to find where your parents went wrong. Oh, maybe while you’re up there you can rip a few bushels of apples off a tree, too! Cause that’s totally what they grow ’em for — so you can make pies.
And listen, I get it. Some things look beautiful right before they die. Aaliyah’s a great example. But that doesn’t mean they’re doing it for our amusement. Would you Instagram your grandmother in hospice? No. Would you drive up to Vermont to see a child who drowned, thus turning a gorgeous shade of blue? Of course not. So why don’t we afford fall leaves the same level of respect? Let’s let their chlorophyll break down with some quiet dignity, OK?
At the end of the day, if you like watching leaves change color in the fall, you’re a horrible person who’s going to hell. Because rather than accepting death as a fact of life, you look forward to it. You embrace it. Clutching your pumpkin spice latte and sticking your head out the car window like some fucking spectator sport — ugh. Makes me sick.
And I hope when your body starts to break down, people do the exact same thing. “Oh, it seems Beth only has a few weeks left. What say we pack up the car and see how yellow she’s gotten?” And then complete fucking strangers will enter your house and loudly remark what a great day they’re having and how it’s hands down the best time of the year. The best. Time. Of the year.
So just promise you’ll at least think about all this before you gas up your car to catch another year of leaves catching their dying breaths. And if you still feel like you need to, promise you’ll also make the trip in December when the tree could actually use a little company and distraction from the death of her babies. But I know you’re not gonna. “Won’t get any Instagram likes…" you’ll say. Ugh. You people make me fucking sick.