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I know I said I liked this kind of rain. And I do. Really. But I like it in very specific circumstances. One of these involves me going for a walk in this weather while carrying an umbrella. Another is when I'm curled up in bed in Danny's attic after I've worked a shift down in the bar and I don't have to get tomorrow morning because it's my day off. And the radiator is on. Another time I like this sort of rain is when I'm in a car being driven somewhere by a good-looking man who is a careful and safe driver. I even like this sort of weather when I'm shopping and I'm waiting for it to stop so I can hurry home. The thing about this sort of rain is it doesn't usually last that long. It's what's called a shower. You can wait it out. It'll stop. In fact the only time showers are bad news is when you are caught in one and you've got a long way to walk. What happens then is that you are going to get soaked so badly that even if it does stop all that will happen is that your thighs get all sore from walking in wet jeans. Denim's a bastard for that when it's wet.
Headlights swung towards me as a car pulls out slightly to avoid splashing me with water. That was nice of them but really wouldn't have made much difference at this point. Then I realise that the car has stopped and the passenger side window has been rolled down. It's the shy psychic red-head from school. "Hi," she says, "kinda wet weather to be taking a stroll."
"I'm British," I say cheerfully. "We revel in this weather. It's practically compulsory."
She laughs as I hurriedly switch my brain onto the doopy doo-doos from the start of 'I'm Singing in the Rain'.
"Logan told me you'd gone out. I thought maybe you were worried about Kurt," she said.
"I wasn't worried," I said with a wide-eyed look that said: Worried. Ha. I was petrified. "I knew he was in good hands." Get a reputation as a bad liar and the world is your oyster. Some people tell you they are bad liars to get this reputation. Personally I always tell people I'm a great liar and then tell a load of really obvious lies. That utterly discombobulates them. They never know whether they are coming or going with you. Dynamite
"He's going to be fine," she told me kindly. "He has a bit of a concussion and a broken breast bone but it's not so serious. He should be up and about in a day or so."
I take a deep breath and let it out very slowly. I smile at the nice lady in obvious relief and then do worried eyebrows. They drip. "That's great. Thanks for telling me."
"Get in and I'll give you a lift back," she says.
"You're alright," I say smiling. I was in a nasty accident a few years back. I don't really like cars. "I'd like to walk. Thanks though."
"You don't want to miss your first week because you've got flu," she smiles. The smile says don't worry I'm a good driver. It's really reassuring and she's trying to be assertive. It's actually cute but I don't want to get in the car with a mind-bender when I'm this tired. The door opens itself and I step back into a puddle. My trainers were wet already, but as it turns out they could have been wetter. And now are.
"I'm telekinetic," she explains shyly. "I actually could make you get in the car."
Ohmigod! Help! I'm a prisoner in a toothpaste factory! "Okay, I'm in. I'm in," I say feigning a fear that I really feel. Sometimes it's difficult to tell where the lies start and the truth stops.
"So, like, did you do that or did I?" I ask. You've probably noticed that sometimes the best I can manage is the stupid question.
"Why a toothpaste factory?" she asks.
"It's a book," I tell her, and then I point out, in case she didn't notice; "I didn't actually say that out loud."
"One of the advantages of being a mind-bender," her grin is like a crocodile. She doesn't seem so shy any more… "You have remarkably loud thoughts, you know."
Damn, shit, piss, bugger, bollocks, shit, sod, arse, I think and she raises her eyebrows. I hope you don't use language like that in front of the kids. The thought pops into my head. I know I didn't think that.
Eeek!