Sunday 14 August 2011

Annal 52: Tale from the Torrential Downpour

You know how in the movies, or a novel, there is that scene where the couple is forced to admit their feelings for one another amidst the onslaught of rushing rain, with lightning occasionally lighting the sky and allowing you to see (or read) the emotions across their faces?  I blame my love of rainy weather on such scenes.  I blame my romantic viewing of torrential downpours on such scenes.  I was at my town's Fall Fair last night and I had my own encounter with such a scene.

My very pregnant friend and I were eating dinner at one of the food booths when other friends joined us.  The sky grew dark rather quickly, rain began to fall, thunder roared, and I was pointing out the lightning to the four year old boy who kept asking me where the thunder and lightning were.  My pregnant friend and I figured that if we wanted the fair's infamous mini donuts, we should probably leave then before it started to rain harder.  So we left the cover of the booth and went in search of mini donuts.

The rain picked up.

We finally made it to the booth and were relieved to see a rather short line-up.  Sadly, those in front of us did not seem interested in allowing us to huddle with them under the overhang.  My friend and I were in the street.

The rain picked up even more.

The woman serving the mini donuts decided to place each one individually into the bags instead of trying to grab handfuls.

The rain was now coming down in sheets.

Eventually we made it to the booth, got our package of warm, cinnamon and sugar covered donuts, shoved it in my purse, and began to head back to where our friends were waiting.  We walked, as my friend informed me that running in the rain only causes one to get wetter.

The rain was now verging on monsoon levels.

We finally made it back to the booth and to be honest, the last think I felt was romantic.  My clothes were soaked through, my pants caked in mud from about the knees down, my hair was clumped against my head, and I would not be surprised if I had dark shadows under my eyes from running make-up.

How is it that men in movies and books always seem to want to profess their undying love to the woman when she is rain-drenched?  How does that work?  I can be honest, the last thing any man would have wanted to do to me last night was pledge eternal affection.

So what did I do to comfort myself with the realization that I will probably never have my romantic rain scene?  I returned to my pregnant friend's house, watched a chick flick with her and another friend, drank Candy Cane Lane tea, wore my incredibly cool "Nerd Machine" t-shirt, and cuddled with my friend's two wiener dogs (no cats).  Oh, and I wore fuzzy Christmas socks in an attempt to return feeling to my now numb-with-cold body.

Yeah, that's me, the image of female perfection right there.  Hmm... and I wonder why I don't get to have a romantic rain scene?

Such is the life of a Christian single.

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