Pout

The coffee grinder had died, which means no coffee until I can go out to the coffee shop. It's a small grouch, but it's mine.

It's raining.

The dishwasher must be emptied (by me, because No One Else did it). Ditto making the bed. Ditto putting all the dirty dishes that miraculously sprang up between 9pm last night (when I started the dishwasher) and now into the dishwasher or otherwise dealing with them.

I know: fifty years ago I'd be wearing an apron and worrying about getting my clothes Wash Day Bright without bluing. I do need coffee, though.

Raindrops Keep Falling on my Knees

A good rain jacket is a lovesome thing. Mine is one we got when Spouse was doing audio post production and working on Out of the Box, a lovely kids' show; it is a heavy gauge plastic with (of course) the OOTB logo, and a hood. The thing is huge--I have to roll the sleeves up, and I have long arms--which means more coverage on those rainy days.

With a nice solid rain jacket, it's a little like walking around in a small tin shack. You get the sound of raindrops falling on your head while remaining dry. On the other hand, if your nice rain jacket isn't long enough, you get a guttering effect where the rain slides right down the jacket and soaks your legs. So: from four inches above the knee and up, dry as a bone, with the pleasant sound of rain above. From four inches above the knee and down, soaked through.

Am now home. Emily was amused by my soakiness, and likely wondered why I didn't just give myself a good shake.