I didn’t used to be such a pussy about the weather. Some of you may remember the post about the swimming lamas…yeah–that was me. Braving the elements, forging stoically through Mother Nature’s mayhem undeterred by little things like downed trees, swimming picnic tables and the possibility of ending up on the evening news as the world’s stupidest person killed in the dumbest quest for a double-cheeseburger, ever recorded.
But not so much anymore. Maybe I’m older. Maybe I’m wiser. Maybe I’ve trained my imagination in the vivid details of death, and as I looked outside today at the leaning trees, the waving powerlines, and the glossy ripples of turbid water splooshing across the street, all I could hear in the back of my head was the voice of the EMT’s…”Gees…too bad she didn’t put on any makeup before she wrapped her car around that bus…she was having the world’s worst break-out EVER! And just imagine how much she’d weigh if she’d died AFTER she ate lunch…”
Or maybe I just don’t like getting cold.
Either way, you may very well ask yourself what it was that made me brave the elements today. What was it that caused me to plow the crapmobile through the knee-deep puddles and the erratic debris on this soggy January 4th? What was it that caused me to go head to head with a trash can as it sailed through an intersection and made a stately left onto Greenback? What was it that sent me out in rain so thick and wet that I was sopping after a three minute go with a downed window?
What was it indeed.
I’m proud to announce to my readers that my Christmas cards have, at last, been sent.
They’re a bit soggy in the middle.
