Dear God, very funny.

God, I thought it was APRE Moi the deluge.

     I know you know that I don’t currently have any running water in the house thanks to that little frosty freeze you recently visited on us by surprise here in the suddenly not so Sunny Deep South. You remember, it’s the one that munched only a tiny bit on one of my beautiful copper pipings.  Yeah. That one.  Good set up for jocularity. I know.  Really hard to resist, Your Dominance.

     And I know you know that I am now showering thanks to the kindness (or probable practicality) of normally not-all-that-friendly-to-newcomers neighbors. However.  Could you have waited, really, just another few measly minutes before sending the monsoon?  Sure, I know rain water is good for the hair and skin. But…

     Instead of teasing me like that with just the barest hint of dampness as the pooch and I departed the wounded domicile, would ten more measly minutes have killed you?  Com’on, you like me. 

     But it WAS a good setup for a chuckle, wasn't it?  And you know that we’ve walked through spitting mists on necessary morning puppy missions before.  Didn’t have to show you no stinkin’ umbrellas. Or raincoats.  Hey, we’re tough enough to take it.

     But no.

     Really good one, God. Job and I have been in hysterics for hours. And the torrential downpour when we had neither chapeau nor brolly …perfect.  To make it even better, after we got back, double drenched, but still relatively smart, and I figured out to take every pot, jar and empty coffee can in the cupboard to the back to fill with rainwater I could use to wash some of the dishes. (Don’t eat dinner at my place for a while yet, God.) you slowed it all down to a teensy unyielding trickle. 

     Great. ‘Must have really guffawed with the cherubim and seraphim over this one .

     Hil-ar-ious.

     I do want to thank you, however, for waiting to bust the pipe and delay the plumbers till after I finished my stint with the explosive gastroenteritis.  Cuz we all know that practical jokes aren’t as funny when they are that cruel. 

     And so I thank you for the tender little mercies.

     I’m not in a barrack or a refuge camp. (Although right now, I am camping in my own house.)  And I have shoes and food and a faithful if soggy companion who is now starting not to smell like wet dog, and who, thank YOU, found the one piece of plastic on the buckling floors you must have lead her to to finish her business.

     I promise, I will make this funnier than it seems now. Later. After the towels come out of the dryer, and the dog stops shaking her reservoir onto the recliner and wool rug in the living room.

     If you have locusts hiding up your sleeve, God, could you please, I pray, send them somewhere else? I know it’s hard to give up such a good target when the laughs are rolling in.  But I have bug spray.

     Oh, yeah, and about that little Internal Revenue thing.  Maybe just little lighter if you could?  Because it isn’t quite as funny as you think.

     APRE MOI.

     Seriously.

     APRE.

     Amen.

     I'll leave a little something extra in the collection plate next Sunday if you could just skip the pestilence, just this once.  Thank you.

     Your faithful, humble, and excessively damp servant

      -Me.