Not in Spain Anymore

I gave up on work today because there are too many John Chans in the world. And a surprising number of them are in the natural sciences. And I'm too tired to try to figure out which one I'm supposed to be stalking.

I'm not just lazy, but it's been a draining Sabbath. Mother and I were walking along the street today, minding our business (I was regretting not being able to buy a book of papal paper dolls at the flea market), when water suddenly poured from the sky. There was no forewarning, except a few black clouds. It did not gradually start raining or pouring, but it was as if we were suddenly thrown in a pool. Water was coming down with such great force that we had trouble seeing the path in front of us. Needless to say, we were soaked. We tried to run, but Mother fell. And one of my flip flops fell off. So we were quite impaired. Not that there was any sense to run. We were saturated. There was so much water all around us and the wind whipping so hard that it became senseless to put the flop (or was it flip?) back on.

We were just 1.5 blocks from the apartment, but by the time we made it there, our clothes hung so heavily that it was hard to walk. Puddles trailed us when we came inside. And my mother can never get wet on the streets of Boston again. Because I found the one t-shirt and one pair of shorts she could change into. And have no more clothes that can fit. ("You may not want to drive by the Russian church tonight, Ma." 'Why not?" "If I remember correctly, your t-shirt makes a tasteless joke about the KGB." -- a Russian club relic from Jared I'd long meant to give away.) Go away, rain. And stay away from my Scooper Bowl.