Over the last week or so, we've had a string of thunderstorms roll in throughout the afternoon and early evening. Very few of them have produced much rain, or thunder for that matter, so I haven't given them much thought.
This evening, I was sitting downstairs, playing eBay in the vain hopes of getting rid of the last of my 70s emo hipster shirts (anyone? anyone?) when I heard the wind start to howl pretty good. It wasn't until about 30 minutes later, after the sprinklers turned off, that I heard the rain slapping against the back of our house. The same side of the house that had several windows thrown open to the night.
Sho'nuff, my entire kitchen was wet. The blinds were dripping water, there was a small rivulet cascading down from the windowsill into the sink, and my floor and table were slick with spray. Since this is why I keep old nasty towels laying around, this wasn't a problem in and of itself. No, I was more pissed off that since the floor was already dirty, the fine sheen of water took away my last excuse for not mopping.
I begrudgingly busted out the Swiffer, cursing the inky blackness without.
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