We have seasons for a reason. It just feels wrong to be carrying a Starbucks red cup while wearing a tank top. It’s strange to see holiday lights draped around the trees near Dallas Hall when the sun is shining so brightly you can barely make them out. And commercials about Thanksgiving dinner and Christmas celebrations seem out-of-place when SMU students are lying out by the tanning pool. But my main reason to bring up the season is a little more personal: I’m over my clothes. As we wake up to day after day of beautiful, warm sun, my new black scrunched boots are wilting in the closet.

It’s not that I don’t love warm weather. I would take warmth over slush and snow any day. Except that I’m sick of my summer dresses. I’m tired of my tank tops. Frankly, I’m fed up with flip-flops.

I’ve been waiting patiently for slouchy sweaters and printed scarves, plaid pea coats and warm winter tights. But weather.com isn’t making the wait easier. The next ten days promise to be sunny and winter-free. I’m stuck looking at a closet full of stale summer wear when a refreshing new winter wardrobe is locked just out of my reach. And I refuse to wear Uggs with a miniskirt. Actually, I refuse to wear Uggs at all, but that’s another story.

So Dallas, I’m begging you. It’s November. My t-shirts have been tucked away, my closet sparkling with new winter wares bought at the end of last season that are just waiting to be worn. The mall is brimming with sweater dresses, ankle boots, belts, and so much more that I can’t bring myself to buy when it’s eighty degrees outside. I’m ready to replace shorts with skinny jeans. I’m ready for hats and gloves and… I’m getting carried away here. It never gets that cold in Dallas.

And to my summer clothes, don’t worry. I know that the next time it snows in April, I’ll be pining for you instead.