I hate summer.

There.  I said it.
I'll get the smelling salts for you and give you a moment to recover.
"How can you hate summer?"

from hyperboleandahalf.blogspot.ca

Does that help? One summer, at Red Rock Bible Camp, I got heat exhaustion. Ever since then, I've been seriously sensitive to heat and feel barfy and queasy when it's more than 24 degrees.
And sweating.  I hate sweating. When the unrelenting sun is bearing down on you, there's no breeze and it "feels like 43.6 with the humidex", how do you exist outside without sweating?  Even my eyelids sweat.  That's not okay.
Then there's the "activities". Swimming. Camping. Picnicking. Bonfires. Parks.
"What's not to like about bonfires? Surely you enjoy sitting around a crackling fire!"

Yeah, that.
Swimming = pouring myself into a bathing suit, dragging at least 1 crying child into the water against their will ("We didn't come to the beach to play in the sand for 4 hours!"), all the while hoping nothing brushes up against my leg, the kids leave the floating band-aid alone and my boobs don't tumble out of my bathing suit. Again.
Camping (for us) = 4 people sandwiched into an tent (aka canvas pod of recycled stagnant air), a slowly deflating air mattress and kids who literally wake up with the sun. Which, if I recall correctly from last summer, was 3:42am.
Picnicking = everyone ate outside 1000 years ago. Then we built shelters and now the smart people eat INSIDE. Without the bugs and the sandwich meat which is slowly warming up and the watermelon which is causing a line of stick from my daughters wrist to her elbow to her stomach to her knees. This will later attract legions of bugs, all of which she is terrified of.
Parks = other people's children.
I'm sure you're wondering now if I hate kittens and cotton candy too, and I can assure you that I love (the idea of) kittens and cotton candy (in very small doses). So there.

Despite my summer avoidance, I have two children who love summer and love being outside, so I suck it up and occasionally take the kids for ice cream at Warky's, cover the driveway with bizarre interpretations of Yo Gabba Gabba characters in sidewalk chalk, play at the (smallest and quietest) park and when I really feel like testing my limits, we do go camping.  It's Wyatt's favorite thing ever, and how do you say no to that? We eat too many hot dogs and s'mores and nobody sleeps, and he talks about how great it is for a year.
So here's to swollen, itchy bug bites, sweaty eyelids, swimming in someone else's pee (oh, you know it's happening), accidentally inhaling a mosquito while biking and drinking a can of pop with a bee inside. Cheers!