A Drizzle Fizzle

          In many middle to far-eastern countries, (far to middlin’?) they are known by the Swahili name; “monsoon”; rain storms, both vicious and unrelenting that are almost as lethal as an Iraqi election. In the Philippines, they are called “tag-ulan”, in Haiti, “muason” but around these parts, they call it “Chris and Cupcake’s summer holidays”.
           I don’t know what it is but for darned near every summer of Cupcake’s and my married life, our week off has been characterized by hard rains, hypothermia-inducing temperatures and more grumpiness than a bus load of seniors facing a Depends shortage. This year was no exception. As you may have guessed from last week’s torrential rainfalls, it was time our attempt at a dry (in the meteorological sense) holiday for myself and my bitter better half. Sadly, as usual, Mother Nature, with her perverse sense of humour, had other plans.
            The devastation that our week off wreaked on our community was tragic. We drove up and down every street in Calmar and in those ten minutes, we saw more people hauling out soggy sofas and besotted broadloom than after Hurricane Katrina. (Mind you, Calmar survived Katrina fairly unscathed). Instead of the Prime Minister flying to the disaster zone as prime ministerial-types like to do (as if their very presence will staunch the rain, dry out basements and demoldify drywall) all that happened was the office of the assistant to the undersecretary of the interior sent us a nasty letter strongly suggesting in future, we take our vacations abroad, ideally in a rogue, enemy state like North Korea or Holland. Frankly, I’m surprised we aren’t approached by drought-stricken areas begging us to holiday in these regions to relieve their moisture problems. I’m sure if Cupcake and I took a year-long sabbatical in Africa, it would lead to the creation of Lake Sahara.
            It’s not like we pick the same weekend every year, either. How dumb do you think we are? (That was a rhetorical question, so don’t bother sending in letters and emails with your answers.)We have tried every week from early July to late August and it doesn’t make any difference. The weekend our vacation begins, the weatherman gets beaten with an ugly stick. One memorable year in particular, we planned our time off for the last week of August only to have it snow a good six inches. Cupcake, as they say, was not amused. I felt almost as much anguish as she did but drew the line at making crank calls to Environment Canada like Cupcake threatened to do.
        “Arrggghhhh!” Cupcake emoted as the sky turned black last Monday, the first day of our vacation. “I don’t believe this. Every year it’s the same thing.”
          I should add that interspersed with her statement were terms not suitable for this space.  In fact some of the terms would have had the late, great George Carlin adding to his famous list.
          “Now, Honey,” I quickly interjected. “This would be a great time to do some ‘chillaxin’.
          “If I wanted to do some ‘chillaxin’ as you call it, I would want to be doing it in the sun in the pool or on a beach, not on the stupid recliner. I sit on the recliner every day. The thrill is gone, you know?”
          “We can go outside and pretend it`s nice out and just accept the fact we`re not made of sugar and won`t melt away. We can putter in the yard maybe.”
           “That`s a great idea,” Cupcake spat, telegraphing the fact she didn`t think it was that great of an idea. “You can start by trimming the hedge with our electric trimmer. I get to watch you plug it in when you`re out in THAT.”
            She pointed dramatically at the sheets of water pouring out of the heavens and laughed maniacally.“Very funny.” I grunted. “Do you take me for a moron?”
“Well you’re the one that suggested we try heating the pool with our toaster.”
            “Okay, I get your point,” I sighed. When Cupcake gets mad, the best thing to do is just let her be mad. When she achieves a certain level of unhappiness, even Eeyore is easier to cheer up.
             As the week wore on, however, Cupcake and I, as usual, adjusted to our fate.  We went on a shopping expedition which helped to mollify her. Spending money seems to lighten her mood as much as my wallet. Still, some things are worth the cost, even if they only increase my quality of life as much as, say, pillow shams or a new candle powered potpourri boiler jobby to go with her other dozen.
            We also ate out at restaurants a lot, too, as barbecuing was out of the question and holidays are no time to make messes somebody would have to clean up.
            “I think the key is that at least we had togetherness,” I waxed philosophic as our holiday drew to a close with a gloriously sunny Sunday.
             “That’s true, dear,” Cupcake patted my leg kindly. “Even a bad day with you beats a good day at work.” I looked at her quizzically. “Uhhh... thanks... I think.”