It's a dreadful song, and I'm not even sure if a man or woman sings it, but it's the first thought on a muggy summer day that turns into rain. What follows is the thought that Jenny Hymas always wanted to be kissed in the rain and that her boyfriend (now husband) obliged, resulting in a story punctuated by screams and giggles.After I clear these thoughts out of my head, I actually get to enjoy the rain and the grey sky, and yes, I pretend for a moment that I'm in London or that someone is waiting for me to dance in the rain with them. (I'm afraid I'm horribly romantic like that.) I should note, however, that these raindrops are Parisian raindrops, not Londoners. Pity, but Google Image wasn't excessively obliging, unlike Jenny's boyfriend.
I now have two choices: go sit all maudlin and watch the rain, or heat up a can of soup and grade papers. Decisions, decisions.
P.S. If you meet an eligible young bachelor, please ask if he likes the rain before sending him my way.
3 comments:
I too loath that song. Come to Seattle everyone here likes the rain; they have to.
I was on the verge, yesterday, of hunting down Ginsberg and informing him that we were going on a long drive through the rain with Bob Dylan, but then I remembered about reality, and the part where he doesn't love me.
editorgirl, I really hope that someday you will find the perfect guy that loves the rain almost as much as he loves you.
Is that too sappy? If it is, I'm sorry.
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