I like fall, except it means having to deal with the idiot drivers who seem to have no idea what all the falling brown, gold, and red things are.
I hate fall because it’s not summer.
[Nelson]
Ha HA
[/Nelson]
I’m okay with Fall. I LOVE Winter.
Maybe it’s just because I’m young.
I lived in New Orleans so long that I’m shocked just to HAVE Fall. I still don’t think it should be cold in September…
As much as I hate winter, I hate fall even more because of the inexorable decline of everything–things die, less daylight, and colder temperatures. At least with winter, there is some hope–days start to lengthen again after the solstice, and temps bottom out sometime in January (where I live) and then creep upward again until Spring. Fall is just downhill all the way.
bosums in sweaters???
Dude, bosums in Tank Tops are so way better.
1 word. Cleavage.
Besides, in fall the sunlight goes and everything starts dying. Yeah, that’s cheery.
I’m for Spring myself.
Fall marks the start of the ice climbing season. That puts it at the top of my list.
-Apoptosis
I love fall. It means horrible, miserable sunburn-inducing, sweating hot allergy suffering summer is finally over. 
I love Autumn. I have to agree though that those were the days. It’s nice to reminisce.
Mmm, fall.
I can start buying milk in bags again, and it won’t get hot enough in the apartment to spoil them in the refrigerator.
And knowing Montreal weather, we’ll probably still have liveable temperatures until well into October. touch wood
And when you’re married, you’ll miss those long kisses goodnight at the door of her parents house.
Excuse me, but what??? Milk in bags…spoil them in the refrigerator… 
I hate fall. Love autumn. Why do Americans have two words for it, anyway? I think I’ll go to the shop and ask for a bag of milk… 
[sub]Shhhh…he’s from Canada…they’re kinda…funny…up there…don’t make any sudden moves…[/sub]
Dolores:
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In addition to cartons, Canadians can buy their milk in plastic bags that they put in pitchers.
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These bags come in larger bags, holding four litres’ worth of small bags.
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All this summer, I had to forego buying milk in bags because it was so hot in my apartment that the last bag of milk would always turn before I could use it.
Bosums in sweaters.
Milk in bags.
Got Fall?
Is there a difference between the milk in bags (hush, lieu) and milk in cartons? Different milk fat percentage? Non-homogenized?
Homebrew, I get the feeling that there’s no difference in the milk itself, just the packaging. Bags presumably require less plastic to make, and even if they’re not recycled they take up less room in landfills, so they’re better for the environment. That was why our school system switched over to little bags instead of the little cartons. They came with special pointed straws to stab into them, like juice boxes. Of course, the size and texture combined to make you feel like you were drinking from a breast implant, but what you gonna do?
Anyway, I love fall. I love the colors, the way the air feels, everything. And I adore the memories it brings back. It reminds me of being a little girl and spending beautiful fall days with my grandma. We’d rake leaves from their huge old elm trees, and when we got done, I’d jump in the pile and let Grandma throw leaves over me till I was comlpletely buried. Then we’d clean up the mess we’d made and go in and bake cookies before the soap operas came on. And when we made peanut butter cookies, she’d let me mash the fork marks into the top.
Yes, that part of my life is gone and I’ll never have it back, and in a few years my grandmother will probably be gone and I’ll never have her back. And yes, I’m older and fatter now and I have a lot of responsibilities that I had never imagined then. I’ll probably never roll around in a pile of leaves, thrashing and giggling again.
I suppose I could be bitter about the loss of that young, innocent, carefree time. It was, after all, a terribly happy time of my life. But if I had clung to that part, I would have missed the other parts that made me the person I am today, and I like myself and my life.
No, silly, Montreal is a refrigerator! 