Autumn PSL* Season *[Pumpkin Spice Latte]
I’ve been living in the UK for years now, so I had no idea that an insidious drug cult has taken over America. My first clue came a few years ago when my plane landed in Atlanta. A group of young women screamed as they entered the terminal. No, really. Screamed. “PUMPKIN! SPICE! LATTES!” When my next flight landed in DC, several passengers menaced a Dunkin’ Donuts employee who was attempting to close down for the night. “Pumpkin spice donuts!” they demanded.
It’s everywhere. Hordes of
suburban white female PSL Zombies are apparently roaming the streets, shuffling along in their Uggs and chanting “PUMPKIN SPIIIIICE”. I tried to escape into my sacred, secure place, the one establishment that makes every ex-pat American groan with homesickness. But the clerk in Trader Joes greeted me brightly with the information that “We carry over 47 pumpkin spice products!”
I staggered to my friend Janine’s house. I’ve known her for four decades, and I knew I could count on her to offer me a comfy chair, a cup of coffee, and her latest baking treat. Here she comes now with a plate of her home-baked petit fours. I’ll just have a taste and…
OMG! THEY GOT JANINE!!!
Autumn PSL Season last year—
So last year, when I arrived in the States I thought I was prepared for America’s annual Pumpkin Spice orgasm.
I could pass the pumpkin spice product displays without blinking.
I could ignore the blatant infiltration by Peeps, those ironic little pervs who aren’t content with subverting their assigned holiday.
I could…NOOOOO! How will my eyes ever be clean again?
But this year?Is NOTHING sacred?