Annal 63: Tale from the Drowned Rat

Have you ever seen a drowned, or at least soaking wet, rat?  I have not, but I have seen wet dogs that closely resemble rats, and as such feel justified in the title of this entry.  It rained all day yesterday, the result of which was a somewhat wet me waiting to catch the bus up to the university. 

A friend kindly pointed out to me that in British Literature the heroine always goes through some sort of an emotional journey, which ends up being symbolized by her travelling through the rain.  Just as she collapses, unable to go on any further, she is swooped up in the arms of some hero and taken to safety.  I don't know about you, but this sounds like a fantastic idea.  Sadly, I have never  been one to be allowed to follow the norms set about by literature, and so my story is slightly different. 

I have had a somewhat emotional journey, things which perhaps one day I will get into a little more, but for now suffice to say that my heart has been broken and has had to be mended.  Therefore I feel that I am about due for a symbolic walk in the rain.  I had this yesterday morning when I was making my way to the bus stop. 

Now, just when you think my hero should come riding in on his noble steed to save me and take me up to the university, a hero did come in.  But he wasn't on horseback.  He was driving a bus.  And he didn't swoop me into his arms, but instead opened the doors to the bus early so I could jump on and avoid being further soaked.  He even wished me a "Good morning."

Yeah, how's that for a romantic encounter?

I then had to walk home from the bus stop at the end of the day.  By the time I unlocked the door I was pretty wet, pretty dirty, and overrall not the most attractive creature on two legs.  How do the women in the BBC movies make getting caught in the rain look so good?  They have the perfect mix of vulnerability and not-running make-up.  It is no wonder men always want to rush to rescue them.

This morning I was reading in 1Peter 3 where Peter is describing the relationship between a husband and a wife.  He talks about how women should not focus on adorning their outer appearance, but instead on adorning their inner appearance.  He uses the term "imperishable beauty" (this is the the English Standard Version).  This got me thinking.

What does imperishable beauty look like?  Peter lists some examples, but I wondered what others thought about this.  What does beauty that doesn't wash away in the rain look like?

Such is the life of a Christian single.

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.