Blame it on the rain…

Tonight, I ran home in the rain.

Running home in the rain is invigorating. Especially in the midst of a hot summer thunderstorm, when the clouds open up out of nowhere, and the rain drops are big, fast, and furious. At one point I found myself laughing at what a mess I’d become in the span of six blocks – skirt soaking wet, formerly straight hair becoming a mess of tangled curls, mascara running down my cheeks. I laughed, though, because for those six blocks, even though I was trying to get home and out of the rain as quickly as I could, I was having a blast.

Rain can be many things – powerful, sexy, soothing, depressing. The day the Pens were eliminated from the playoffs, it rained all day long. I was already upset about a multitude of things, and the relentless rain only made it worse. The rain that came with the “hurricane” that passed by New York in August was much more fun – an excuse to get together with friends, kill a few bottles of wine, and laugh at the nonstop news coverage as the storm left us largely unscathed. There are few things that can lull me to sleep more quickly than the sound of raindrops on the windowpane. And when I’m at the beach, I love nothing more than sitting on a (covered) balcony, with a glass of wine, watching the clouds rolling in over the ocean, lightning crashing on the water, and rain pouring down on the sand.

Rain reminds me of the lonely, chilly winter in Greece… of getting caught in a tropical storm on the Road to Hana on my honeymoon… of both the worst football game and one of the best football games I’ll ever see in person in my entire life… of a Dave Matthews Band concert in the middle of summer right after I graduated. One thing it won’t remind me of?


I don’t think I’ve ever kissed anyone in the rain. Come on, B, I know you’re thinking, have a little originality. I know it’s tired and cliched. I know it’s impractical. But it’s also damn romantic and sexy.

Seriously. Watch the gold standard:


Just once, I want that. I want someone to be so overcome with passion that he can’t wait till we’re inside. I want to have one kiss that I look back on and think, whoa… now that was a kiss. I’ve had good kisses. I’ve had great kisses. I’ve had kisses which set off fireworks. I’m not sure I’ve ever had one hell of a holy shit kind of kiss. I’m 30. I should have a one hell of a holy shit kind of kiss. Preferably in the rain.


One thought on “Blame it on the rain…

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