Summer is a synonym for fun and sun and all things great. Warm, lazy days sipping cocktails around the pool and having friends idling on lilo’s. It is a time to be outside, exposing our skin to free Vitamin D, soaking up our yellow star, turning our awfully bright, white bodies into various shades of healthy tan to third degree burns. For as the Wife always says: Brown fat looks better than white fat.
Unless of course all of this wondrous activity is hijacked or annihilated by a little annoying necessity, I liked to call, RAIN. Or Mother’s Earth spite, if you’re that way inclined.
Don’t get me wrong. I understand the importance of rain in the circle of life. I understand that I will die of thirst without the droplets of life falling from the sky. Even more importantly, if it wasn’t for the crying game of Mother Nature, I would have had to physically water my own garden if I cared for green foliage and happy plants.
Water also provides humanity with the opportunity to wash ourselves, even if there are those who don’t feel the need to do so daily. To them I say, get some soap stinkies! And what would I have with my Scotch if it wasn’t for ice? Actual rocks? Ridiculous. Water is important and this is not a rant about rain. It’s about too much rain. Or more accurately the twisted irony of Mother Earth for allowing it to rain at the most shittiest of times.
In the olden days men danced for rain. They used to dress themselves in feathers, leather and little else and prance around in circles to please the rain gods. Oddly, it still happens today, men dress up in feathers and leather and prance around to please other men. (Who knows, maybe the rain gods were also gay.)
That’s not the point.
The ancient, dancing men in their feather-leather-gear were mumbling unpronounceable words in song, thinking that it would open the floodgates of the heavenly oceans. And when it does rain and the puddles turn to streams and rivers and the grass stands lusciously in the fields, then these men hop in the puddles and skinny dip in the streams. All of them laughing, embracing one another, being happy and joyous and gay.
Things are so much easier nowadays. I don’t need to dress up, dance, sing or even pray for rain. No my friends, if I want it to rain, the only thing I need to do is WASH MY CAR. And here’s the secret. The more time I spent washing, polishing and caring for the damn thing, the shorter the period of rainfall will be. The two things are directly proportional. If I spent hours cleaning my car, there will be a very quick shower, turning my once sparkling, blackish SUV into a brown acne ridden mess within mere seconds.
There are other ways to guarantee rain and most of these methods have been proven by yours truly. Take my word for it, they work, especially if you live in my house or have my life. I would like to warn you that some of these actions might result in continuous rain. Like for days on end. Non-stop. Until you reach a point when you will have to sit through something as atrocious as the movie “Blended.”
It will rain when you’ve spend three weeks planning a social, outdoor event on a weekend. It will rain when you’re invited to a garden wedding in the non-rainy season. It will rain when you’re just about ready to go and see all the famous sites in a foreign city. It will rain for long periods of time when we go camping at the beach for our annual vacation. There will be a thunderstorm when I attend a school gala and my kid is still in the pool, finishing her final lap. And a definite guarantee for pissing rain would be those times when I don’t have an umbrella handy.
The recent splurge of rain is a sign that Mother Nature had enough of humanity and all the things we do to her on a daily basis. She’s probably sobbing hysterically out of concern for future generations, contemplating life as we know it and the extinction of so many species of fauna and flora on earth.
Or maybe she just has her some good ole’ PMS…
By the way, it’s still raining.