It never ceases to amaze me how much the rain freaks people out in Los Angeles. I'll admit it. I'm freaked out. I dislike the gloom, the chill, and getting wet fully clothed. It's connected, I'm sure, to the promise of eternal sunshine we So Cal people believe we are entitled to. It's probably also connected to the fact that most of us don't have the right clothes for it either.
Add to all that the resultant slippery, oil-slicked roads, which turns driving, often an hours-long process anyway, into something that requires military planning. There's also the emotional turmoil of having to deal with temperatures dropping to 60 degrees during the day, amid dark clouds. I've had more than one friend tell me they had a hard time getting out of bed today because it was so dark outside.
Okay, we're wimps. As my friends and I, volunteers at a local food bank, stared out the glass door at the rain pouring down in buckets, all we could say was: Why us? Why now? Do we actually have to go out in this? How will we survive?
Perhaps we Los Angelinos need to take some lessons from our cousins, the transplanted Easterners, who often don't use umbrellas or run for shelter during a drizzle.
On second thought, why bother. This too, will pass.