There is a certain vicious delight that runs thru me as I watch people freak out about the rain.
Its Southern California, so rain is like a unicorn with a drinking problem and a rage issue.
When it does show up, it will fly into a homicidal binder and does its best to kill you.
I am staring out the window at the rain.
The concept of a gentle drizzle is all but unknown in these parts.
Houses slide down the hillsides, mudslides and flashflood warnings take over the news like a natural disaster form of corporate take over.
Personally, I like it.
Not the horror, the rain.
I lived in Portland, OR for about 5 years and it rained for most of that time.
You get used to it.
You can always tell a tourist in Portland because they carry an umbrella.
Everyone who actually lives there just puts their hood up.
You live in a constant state of always being a little wet.
But you miss the sun.
To Portland, the sun is a lot like a deadbeat dad.
It shows up once in a great while, and never stays long enough to establish any warmth, but just enough to remind you of what’s missing and make you wonder what life would be like if it was around a lot more.
There is a puddle on the walkway leading into the Starbucks I am in.
The path dips in that spot and it has created a deceptively deep puddle, about 6 inches deep.
However, and this is the key point, it doesn’t LOOK deep at all.
So people keep stepping in it.
That is how pathetic my mind is, my amusement this morning centers around watching people freak out after stepping in a deceptively deep puddle.
And people are different when it comes to the unintentional dunking of their stanky feet. (All feet are stanky with the exception of mine, my children (You should have smelled their baby feet!), and any woman I have given a foot rub to over the years. (Possibly the most erotic thing on the planet.)
The more manly a guy is, the more prissy and girly their response.
The guy is about 6’2, square jaw, man’s man.
Right foot, full immersion.
The screech was high pitched and easily heard thru the window.
He began high stepping with his hands flexing then tightening into fists, then flexing again.
Next up, Yoga woman.
She is the epitome of the “New fitness” prototype.
Yoga pants, greatest creation of modern times when worn by the right woman.
Baggy yet frilly top that is supposed to be shapeless, yet points out that this woman is incredibly built.
Low rise snug ugg boots, a good look with this ensemble.
The hair is carefully arranged to look casual.
The overall effect is stunning.
Left foot, full immersion.
The cursing is deeper than expected and a lot filthier. (Uncomfortably masculine.)
She may have a penis, we have no way of knowing.
Gone is the serene facade and what is left is pissed off.
Wet ugg boots, can’t blame her. (If they are real lambs wool, they are going to stink later.)
The most surprising of the morning was the little old lady.
I saw her get out of her Oldsmobuick and heard towards the front door.
Peasant skirt, flats, blouse with a little rain coat plus umbrella.
I am out of my seat and just coming out of the front door to stop her when something interesting happened.
She jumped in the puddle.
I held the door for her as she went in.
Made my day.