You know, as sure as eggs are eggs, that if you wash your car or water the garden, rain cannot be far away.
In the interests of mankind inhabiting the Midwest, Sir has come up with a plan. He’s going to buy a rain gauge on the premise that once it becomes known that he actually wants to know how much rain has fallen, the powers that be in the precipitation department will take a Machiavellian turn and will, in turn, turn off the waterworks, just to spite him. He, after all, does have ancestry on his side.
It’s a little-known fact that in the Croatian/Italian/Arabic side of the family, many eons ago, some 4,500 million years to be more precise, one Sir Senior Bin Messinabout, changed the course of geological history.
I quote from the Smithsonian: “…something strange happened: The transition from humid to dry happened far more rapidly…” … “Maybe humans and their goats tipped the balance, kick-starting this dramatic ecological transformation…”
So there was Sir Senior herding his goats through the tropical jungle somewhere near the region where Niger meets Algeria now, and as the summer rains beat relentlessly upon his brow that, shaking his fist, he vowed and declared that he’d had quite enough of being wet, thank you very much, and that his goats were becoming quite portly, gorging as they did on the fruits of the region.
Something drastic needed to be done, and he wanted proof of the problem to include in an 8,000-page redacted dossier on the dratted climate to present to the government in the vain hope that the elected officials would stop bickering with each other and actually achieve something worthwhile.
He took himself off to Lowe’s of Arabia and bought the first rain gauge ever produced. And, well, as you now know, the rest is history.
Naturally Sir doesn’t want to induce such a drastic change in our weather pattern, so he figures that by putting the rain gauge up for a couple of weeks and then secreting it in the garage for the rest of eternity, the sneaky little rain imps won’t twig to his plan. He doesn’t want Kansas City to become the newest Death Valley after all. He just wants the ground to dry out enough so it’s not “cart path only” on the golf course.
There’s no need to panic. Remain calm, and I’ll tell you why. As we rapidly approach the 20th anniversary of our Las Vegas nuptials, I know Sir, you see.
The king of the procrastinators, it might take him a while to actually achieve the purchasing of said rain gauge, and if he runs to his usual course, it will take him till about September to actually go and do it, by which time, naturally, the spring rains will have well and truly stopped.
But knowing him, he will then proclaim that by the very nature of his intending to buy one, the rains disappeared into their respective corners and turned themselves off just to thwart him.
Huh, he showed them now, didn’t he?
Annie Dear lives in Lee’s Summit. Email her at firstname.lastname@example.org.