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It's a sin around here to not thoroughly enjoy every moment of every golden day. It's embarrassing to answer, "Did you get out and enjoy the sunshine this weekend?" with "No, I stayed inside." Co-workers frown and exchange suspicious looks; apparently I'm one of those rain-loving slugs. I tried lying, but my pale complexion gave me away.
Another mark in rain's favor is that my body doesn't betray me when it's cold and damp outside. Throughout the winter, people wear several layers, with perhaps several extra pounds here and there. In June I dig out my shorts to discover my thighs resemble cottage cheese. I dread buying a swimsuit, as consecutive horror and humiliation make me cringe in the dressing room.
Even my taste buds prefer the rain. When it storms outside, it's time for steamy hot chocolate or even a soothing toddy. People devour hot, hearty meals, with lots of potatoes and savory sauces. This type of eating evaporates when the sun comes out; suddenly everyone offers salads and ice water and expects it to be satisfying.
It's time to publicly acknowledge that I love the rain, how it transforms my house into a cozy caves where I can spend the afternoon cooking and dreaming. It seems nobody else will admit to a love affair with the rain, nobody else will groan when it's hot outside and join me in a rain dance.
When the sun comes out I do greet it with a smile, slipping sunglasses to my purse and pulling a tank top out of my closet. Yet my comfortable sweaters and warm slippers beckon, making me wish for another wet, chilly afternoon. When the rain returns, I will grin even more. Am I the only one? ( finished )
