Rainy Days Love Me--Not Really

I have an affinity for rainy days that defies logic. You see, I like rainy days for reasons that I never actually get to experience. I love the idea of sitting on the couch and spending an entire day watching movies—and since it’s October that means running through my annual Halloween playlist. I’m not a fan of horror flicks so I watch “Practical Magic” and “Monster House,” “Monsters Inc.” and “The Adams Family.” If I’m feeling especially brave I may break open “The Sixth Sense,” but that’s about as tingly as I like to get. I also like the idea of catching up on all those TV shows that are waiting patiently in my TiVo box to me to remember them. I would watch while sipping hot chocolate and eating other hot stuff like grilled cheese sandwiches and tomato soup. I have a great window on the city and I love how the lights twinkle on a rainy day just like it’s night time, but because it’s day I can enjoy them since generally I’m too tired to care about sparkly lights as I drop into bed after another non-stop day.


The problem with this love is that it’s so obviously unrequited. Rainy days don’t love me. You see, I never get a rainy day on a Sunday—which is practically the only day that I could ever hope to stay in my pajammies (okay I’d never do that, but I digress) and watch movies. Rainy days show up on Tuesdays when I have to slog through the gusts wearing a dress and high heels. Or they show up on a day when I have time but also a truck-load of checklists. At least on those days I get to wear reasonable shoes as I run from store to store, my hair frizzing to oblivion. That’s another reason rainy days don’t love me. I have naturally curly hair that reaches astronomically heights when humidity hits. Thank goodness I don’t live in Memphis or Tallahassee—I’d always be mistaken for a really pale Macy Gray. And I can never find my umbrella because I’m not exactly sure I own one. I think I do, I’m pretty sure I see it from time to time but it’s as illusive as that sock that disappears in the dryer. So I wind up running around, my shoes filling with water, my hair shaking like a pom-pom, with a Walmart plastic shopping bag pulled over the top of my head.

Maybe someday I’ll get to see a rainy day from behind a window while a fire warms me—but I doubt it. I can’t even manage to get sick on a rainy day. Nope—I catch the flu in July when it’s 109 degrees outside and everyone is swimming. It’s okay though. Sometimes it’s good to have a love that is unreciprocated—otherwise I’d leave my husband for Dean Cain (don’t ask—it’s a Superman thing.)