Yesterday dawned a glorious leaden gray, everything awash in the brilliant splendor of Pantone 416. The sky was gray, the streets and buildings and moods were gray, even the air — gray.
It was the fourth in a series of gloomy days predicted to stretch well into next week. Extended forecasts, though, are notoriously unreliable; in fact, would they even qualify as wild guesses? Judges? No, they wouldn’t.
Here, on the fifth soggy morning in a row, it’s 64º with 92% humidity and a UV Index of 1 — Low — with a light rain. Puddles dot the sidewalks, cars splash like pontoons, people look glum under their umbrella canopies.
After a few quick errands, I looked basted and in need of a towel. The car seats were damp and had wet paw prints, the steering wheel was, ew, clammy. Plastic grocery bags, groceries, hair, socks, everything — wet. It’s the kind of weather where patience is thin and frustration is high. It’s bleak, naturally, but any worse than the previous four? Yes.
I’m growing mold on my north-facing side. Mold!
Enough already. Where’s the sun? Why doesn’t it come out? Is it on vacation, was it kidnapped, what? Ever since our very benign and mild winter I’m worried about payback, the big backlash — things like arctic cold snaps or suffocating heat waves or rain forest status.
That’s what we’re on the verge of becoming, you know: a rain forest — drippy and squishy, but minus the exotic foliage. (Unless corn is considered exotic in your local area.)
And now that Newtie’s left the campaign trail, we’re out of options. Who else will colonize the moon? Bet that’s a nice, dry climate up there, what with the craters and moon rocks. There’s a dark side to it, though. Well, according to Pink Floyd, anyway — has anyone checked their facts? Pardon me, Houston, we have a question.
Be honest. Wouldn’t we all like a pretty Pantone 712 (sea shell pink) day or maybe a lovely 538 (blue sky)? I would. Dry out this mold and pruney finge–hey, the sun’s out.
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