It’s the time of year when rain is either happening or could any second. Droplets sound like sizzling breakfast food as they fall on trees outside the window.

In my horticulture classes, people would always claim you could garden all day and stay as dry as an unused toothbrush if you just had the right gear. Unfortunately, I’ve rarely been the type to invest in the right gear. I’ve even swiped two raincoats as a result of being unprepared for the weather – once from the lost and found at a yoga studio, once from a horticulture class itself.

Now the drops are coming down harder, more like a bubbling deep fryer.

On Alex’s 30th birthday we borrowed our friend Earl’s Fry Baby for the party and stuck it in the corner of the kitchen. We supplied the batter and guests brought everything from pickles to sushi to candy bars and shrimp for dunking into the oily cauldron. The next day our apartment smelled so bad. The kitchen walls were thick with grease and blobs of batter were everywhere.

There’s a rhythm to the downpour, almost like cards being shuffled over and over. Kind of sloppy shuffling, though.


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