View From A Mudhole
So we were awakened from our nap by a Hellacious Thunderstorm...
The rain was coming down as hard as I've ever seen it. Kate and I, being alone for the week with Ruthie et al out of town, decided to take the mature, respectable, intelligent course.
We seized the day.
Out into a driving downpour, clad in our underwear, squealing like a pair of six year olds, we bolted out the back door and reveled in the deluge from the blackened sky. It was delicious and magnificent. We spread our arms and raised our faces, and nearly drowned in the warm flood. It was strangely serene, in its odd little way.
At least until I got whacked across the back with a huge wad of mud, that is. I spun around to see my dear love Kate, bent over and grabbing another pair of fists full of mud, preparing for a second volley.
I don't take such things lying down.
I did the only thing I could. I charged. She got me again, but I got her better. She was on her butt before she could even think about shot number three.
Then I did the single dumbest thing I could have. I attempted to swan dive on top of her, with the intent of rubbing her face in the mud.
I guess I forgot about that whole Marine Corps thing. I did manage to hook my finger in her bra strap. Which broke. It was an accident, I swear. And it was just the clasp on the shoulder strap, it's not like I broke the actual bra.
In a fit of faux rage Kate, who is apparently called corporal for more than just military reasons, thought I should be...um... corrected. I thought otherwise, and things sort of got slippery, and muddy, and really really fun. By the time the rain began to let up, we were exhausted and covered from head to toe in nothing but the back yard. And we had at some point aquired an audience consisting of the neighbor couple who just moved in next door a few weeks ago. I guess they heard all the ruckus and decided to peek over the fence to see what was up. Whoops.
Well not whoops too bad. The lady asked if it was a private party, or if anyone could join in. Kate, without missing a beat, yells "you're overdressed", so the lady started to correct this little deficiency. I like her already. Her husband/boyfriend stopped her, though. She did everything she could to talk her "man" into hopping into the mudhole with us. He apparently has a problem with naked, muddy girls, I guess. He wouldn't do it, and I think she's mad at him. He's a poop. It's not like we were having sex. It was just naked mud wrestling. Good clean fun, you might say.
Anyways, we're back in, and showered again, and back in clean underwear.
If you're ever awakened from a nap by a thunderstorm on a hot summer day, take my advice. Be young. Be fun.
Seize the day.
The rain was coming down as hard as I've ever seen it. Kate and I, being alone for the week with Ruthie et al out of town, decided to take the mature, respectable, intelligent course.
We seized the day.
Out into a driving downpour, clad in our underwear, squealing like a pair of six year olds, we bolted out the back door and reveled in the deluge from the blackened sky. It was delicious and magnificent. We spread our arms and raised our faces, and nearly drowned in the warm flood. It was strangely serene, in its odd little way.
At least until I got whacked across the back with a huge wad of mud, that is. I spun around to see my dear love Kate, bent over and grabbing another pair of fists full of mud, preparing for a second volley.
I don't take such things lying down.
I did the only thing I could. I charged. She got me again, but I got her better. She was on her butt before she could even think about shot number three.
Then I did the single dumbest thing I could have. I attempted to swan dive on top of her, with the intent of rubbing her face in the mud.
I guess I forgot about that whole Marine Corps thing. I did manage to hook my finger in her bra strap. Which broke. It was an accident, I swear. And it was just the clasp on the shoulder strap, it's not like I broke the actual bra.
In a fit of faux rage Kate, who is apparently called corporal for more than just military reasons, thought I should be...um... corrected. I thought otherwise, and things sort of got slippery, and muddy, and really really fun. By the time the rain began to let up, we were exhausted and covered from head to toe in nothing but the back yard. And we had at some point aquired an audience consisting of the neighbor couple who just moved in next door a few weeks ago. I guess they heard all the ruckus and decided to peek over the fence to see what was up. Whoops.
Well not whoops too bad. The lady asked if it was a private party, or if anyone could join in. Kate, without missing a beat, yells "you're overdressed", so the lady started to correct this little deficiency. I like her already. Her husband/boyfriend stopped her, though. She did everything she could to talk her "man" into hopping into the mudhole with us. He apparently has a problem with naked, muddy girls, I guess. He wouldn't do it, and I think she's mad at him. He's a poop. It's not like we were having sex. It was just naked mud wrestling. Good clean fun, you might say.
Anyways, we're back in, and showered again, and back in clean underwear.
If you're ever awakened from a nap by a thunderstorm on a hot summer day, take my advice. Be young. Be fun.
Seize the day.
