A Wet Day

The day began beautifully.

Last summer, Rebecca and I were walking across the Montlake Bridge when it started to rain.  The day was warm, the rain gentle, and by the time we got to Flowers, where we were going to lunch, we were completely dry.  Yesterday, I felt a sense of déjà vu when, as we were crossing that very bridge, once again on our way to Flowers, it started to rain.  Rebecca was annoyed because I had told her the weather would be fine, and she need not dress warmly. What a mistake! The rain was not at all gentle – the heavens opened, it suddenly turned chilly, we were soaked through in minutes. 

That quickly changed!

By the time we got to Flowers  – actually, well before we got there - we were shivering with cold, dripping with wet, and one of us was the teensiest bit crabby, blaming her poor mother for the weather. Or more likely, for her mother’s complete misjudgment of the precipitation potential. I was, in true mother fashion, feeling guilty about the whole thing. I had worn a t-shirt and thermal underwear – in other words a body hugging sponge.  Becca’s outfit was little better.  We ducked into a used clothing store, and bought ourselves new togs.  Becca wisely changed her clothes there. Then we went to the knitting store to use their bathroom so I ccould change.  The knitting ladies all clustered about Becca, clucking about her blue lips and offering sympathy. 

Blue with cold!

I, the author of the fiasco, was punished by the horrible fabric softener smell on my otherwise nice new sweat shirt.  Warm and dry, we comforted ourselves with huge dishes of ice cream – just the sort of thing Mayor Bloomberg does not want us to eat.