Last Thursday afternoon, it rained in Pasadena. As my best friend in the eighth grade would have said, "Well blow me down and call me Papa Smurf." (I have no idea where/when/how she coined that saying, but it is forever burned into my memory).
It never rains in L.A. County during the summer; but last week, it was raining so hard, it sounded like hail was bouncing off the roof. I stood outside on our covered front porch to watch the rain, but holy crap, it was too hot and muggy to stay outside! Rain in Pasadena usually means cool temperatures, but this August storm was like something you'd find in New York or Florida.
Nathan got home a little early and announced, "I'm going in the pool, because swimming in the rain is one of life's great joys." The following conversation ensued:
Courtney: You can swim in the rain?
Nathan: Of course, unless there's lightning. But I didn't see any lightning on the drive home. You've been sitting by the window. Did you see any lightning?
C: No! I have not seen any lightning. I'll put my suit on.
Two minutes later, I'm wearing my swimsuit and excited for my first ever swim in the rain.
C: Did you hear that thunder? It's been thundering like that all afternoon.
Nathan turns slowly around and looks at me. His expression says, "My god, wife, how stupid are you?"
N: I didn't hear any thunder. Has there been thunder?
C: Yes! Lots and lots of thunder.
Nathan puts his trunks back into the drawer.
N: You realize if there's thunder then there's also lightning?
C: Oh. So we can't go swimming?
DAMNIT. I'm 33 years old, and I have still not gone swimming in the rain.
In my defense, I know that thunder and lightning are partners in crime. But I grew up in West Los Angeles! I thought maybe you can sometimes hear thunder when the lightning is too far away to see. So I thought maybe it was safe to swim in the rain if you can only hear the thunder. I just assumed Nathan had heard the thunder during his drive home (it sounded like Zeus was engaged in an epic battle with the Titans) and that he was tapping into some secret Midwest knowledge about safety rules for swimming in the rain.
Even though he's in New York as I type this, I can see my dad shaking his head and reminding me for the million gazillionth time that Assume makes an Ass out of U and Me.
Thanks, Dad, I got it. Still, I wish we could have gone swimming in the Pasadena August rain.
