I *could* tell you the story of why I'll never have a career as a weather forecaster. The skies were gray when the clock rolled around to walk-time. There was only a 20% chance for rain for the day but we'd already had a couple of small showers. A check of the local radar seemed like a good idea before hitting the streets. There were a couple of spots of color...OK, so they were yellow and red but they weren't very big and they were a ways out. Putting the radar in motion (as the weathermen are so fond of saying) showed they weren't moving very fast and there was a chance they'd go around us. Time to strap on the shoes and go.
The blocks came and went as I worked my way around the neighborhood. Just to be on the safe side, I altered my course so I was never too far from home just in case the weather took a turn for the worse. And, of course, I carried my umbrella.
With the last half mile to go, I passed the house and headed down the cul-de-sac. And I got most of the way to the end before the rain started. No problem, I thought, I'll pop up my umbrella. A few steps more and the rain was coming down harder. I reconsidered my decision to go to the end and made an early U-turn, picking up my pace back to the house.
Then the bottom fell out. It poured. It blew. It rained buckets and then some. My shoes were drenched, my jeans were soaked and even my shirt was wet. My tiny little umbrella kept the rain off my head but that was about all.
Now I know this is the point in the story when you're expecting my knight in shining armor (or in my case, the hubby in the black car) to ride up and save me from the storm. But you'd be wrong. He was on the golf course getting just as wet as I was.
I *could* tell you this story but then you'd think neither of us had enough smart to come in out of the rain. And apparently you'd be right.
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