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With
the easing of COVID-19 restrictions over the past few months, Texas
weather has been releasing its pent-up energy like a post-quarantine
exhibitionist with multiple personality disorder.
This winter, we had not one, but two snowfalls in Northeast Texas
— a region of the country where a snowflake is usually defined
as a hipster with a phobia of full-employment and brash ex-presidents
with spray tans.
One of our snow events amounted to almost a foot of white powder
that forced our doglets to re-evaluate their methods for destroying
my lawn. Our Maltese mix even threatened to file cruelty-to-an-animal's-undercarriage
charges against us the first time we let her out to potty in the
permafrost.
Then spring arrived with a pant-soaking vengeance. It rained almost
daily at our house throughout the month of May and the first week
of June, to the point that I wondered whether I should force my
daughters to accessorize their crop tops with arm floaties when
they made their daily runs to Target and Starbucks.
Seriously, though, the constant rain has had some significant economic
consequences. Despite a regional surge in snorkel sales, the precipitation
and overcast skies stunted the growth of locally-grown crops like
watermelons, the taste of which is like a sweet herald to summer
for me. I've been known to make a nutritious meal of a whole watermelon
in one sitting — seeds and all — followed by a sleepover
in the men's room. I guess this year I might have to get my vitamins
from one of those ridiculous fruit cups at Chick-fil-a, with a side
of large waffle fries and a milkshake (for my veggies and calcium).
I've also taken a personal financial hit due to my generously supplying
the nearest storm drain with landscaping topsoil and mulch from
Lowe's. Because my inundated yard has taken on the consistency of
those makeup sponge thingies that my daughters leave strewn through
the house, I've resorted to wearing tall black rubber boots for
routine outdoor tasks like taking out the garbage or fetching my
designer underwear orders from the mailbox. My daughters especially
appreciate it when I pair the rubber boots with my bathrobe —
just as their boyfriends arrive to pick them up.
And speaking of my daughters, the swimming pool we installed a few
years ago to increase their tolerance of sharing oxygen with us
became just plain redundant, acting as the neighborhood retention
pond and often featuring water the color of those vegetable cleansing
smoothies. I've had to apply so many chlorine shock treatments to
the pool water that my youngest daughter and her friends recently
received free hair highlighting treatments when they came to swim.
Unfortunately, you can now see through their skin.
Although the rain has been a nuisance lately in East Texas, the
current extended forecast shows conditions that promise to make
us all feel like we're wearing woolen long johns inside an active
volcano. We'll almost certainly be praying for rain come August
— when our car interiors turn into air fryers, and the only
moisture we get is the sweat dripping from our navels.
Until then, I think I'll keep greeting my daughters' boyfriends
in my rubber boots, bathrobe and snorkel — just for fun.
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