Winter is my favorite season for a number of reasons. The temporary extinction of all bugs is pretty nice if you, like me, appreciate the end result of millions of creatures dying of frostbite. Christmas is also on the list, because I love hearing how PISSED OFF people are that corporate America DARES to plaster poor Santa’s bearded face all over CVS in order to make a few extra bucks earlier and earlier in the year.
While Christmas and snow and dead bugs are all well and good, I do have an absolute favorite aspect of winter: the disappearance of pumpkin spice.
Ooooo, I can hear the angry protests of white girls reading this across privileged America! I relish in the fact that every basic white girl’s ability to “even” essentially hits zero when their access to pumpkin spice is taken away.
No more can the hordes of Ugg-clad, yoga-pants-wearing basic bitches pumpkin “spice up” their lives in the form of ridiculously overpriced hot beverages. Instead, they’ll have to resort to whatever vanilla-soybean-latte-triple-whip bullshit they used to get.
As someone with a decent amount of spare time on his hands, I recently devoted roughly twenty-eight seconds of my precious time here on Earth to Googling what pumpkin spice is actually made of.*
*But, before I share the results, I need to tell you about the image that just popped into my head: okay, so the scene opens with a shot of a few basic white girls standing around in the bathroom discussing whatever- probably the weirdly crooked penis that Karen saw over the weekend. In the middle of her recounting of the tale (“It had to be like, thirty degrees skewed to the left! It looked like a checkmark!”) one of the girls pulls a bag of some fine brown powder out of her stylish, but comfortable headband.
“OMG, is that heroin??” exclaims Karen. Karen prides herself on being willing to try anything once.
“No, betch, shut up,” Lauren replies. Lauren has been unhappy with Karen ever since she got the nose job. Whispering, Lauren explains, “It’s… pumpkin spice.”
The other girls cannot even. They start acting like a bunch of angry primates; smashing up the bathroom while the others rail lines of pumpkin spice off the soap dispenser. A number of snapchats are sent to relay how awesome their lives are in relation to others’, which ends up coming back to bite Karen in the ass when her husband runs for President.
Phew. Thanks for indulging me in that story. Now, an interesting fact that you may or may not share with someone at a party at some point in your life:
There is no pumpkin in pumpkin spice.
WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAT?!?! No pumpkin in pumpkin spice?? That’s like, if, well, someone told you that something had something in it but really they lied and there is no God. In my mind, I was imagining a number of starving children slaving away in a factory somewhere, shaving the sides of pumpkins with cheese graters or something to harvest the spice of the pumpkin.
Something that I think is worth pointing out is the fact that I have never witnessed or heard about any black women ordering pumpkin spice anything. Perhaps white girls have some sort of genetic predisposition to a pumpkin spice addiction? Kind of like a way less destructive form of diabetes.
Come to think of it, I have never seen a black person order a hot beverage of any kind. Did I just stumble across a new stereotype? Let me know if you have evidence of the contrary. I will say, though, that my Google search for “black people coffee” did not reveal nearly as many pictures of black people drinking coffee as I thought it would. It did, however, show me a bunch of pictures of Bill Cosby making various faces, which kept me entertained for a few minutes.