So what if our clothes get damp and smell only slightly better than the five-year-old blanket in the dog's bed? They can always be dried. (Thus giving off an aroma somewhere between an ancient vinigar barrel and the hold of a fishing boat.)And, what is the big deal about a little moss between our toes? I keep that under control with a shower a day and a pinch of weed killer.
\I suppose the ultimate triumph would be to dash about in the rain with no hair AND no clothes. thus, having nothing whatsoever to worry about except skin. But then, skin, left wet for such long periods of time might develop a somewhat unattractive appearance as our bodies warped into Shar-pei-like wrinkles. (On the unlikely chance you don't know the difference betwween a Shar-pei and a Chinese tea party, they are dogs with Pekinese bodies sloughing around inside of St. Bernard hides.)That might be an improvement if I thought about it long enough. But, I am only supposing and would be the first to tie myself to a rocket and defect to Mars if the idea took hold.
We have an addition to our winters some years; we have El Nino, a weather pattern that has been blamed for everything from a decrease in sea-gull droppings, (who's counting?) to my great-uncle Silas growing hair. The latter is amazing, since from birth, his pate has been as empty of foliage as the herb gardens I keep trying to cultivate in my window sill. Somehow though, I can't quite believe his follicles began to produce because of a big wind. But, as I am constantly inquiring, and hoping no one ever answers--what do I know? If El Swoosho can level a town without half trying, I quess percolating a few hairs from an old guys scalp is El Simplo.
Un-named sources have told me a couple of eccentric scientists on a small Pacific atoll tried to harness El Ninos power and use it for the good of mankind. They were last sighted flying over Pago Pago sans airplane, singing, Fly me to The Moon.
All things considered, that probably IS for the good of humankind.
El Nino will pass. Everything will settle down, including mud slides the size of Rhode Island and the sale of row-boats. Let me give you the good new though...as the song goes, "Gibralter may tumble, the rockies may crumble, they're only made of clay...BUT...our rain is here to stay.
I will admilt to shaking my fist a few times over deflated hair-do's from an unexpected down-power. But even that I may be about to conquer. I am approximately one razor-blade away from total baldness. I only need ten or fifteen year to come to a final decision.