They wanted ice cream. We wanted to not go anywhere.
To meet in the middle, my friend offered her son and my daughter coupons for Slurpees at the 7/11 like two miles away—straight shot. The kids could ride bikes up and back, no problem.
There was protesting from one because it was so hot. Our region is waist deep in a drought and we’re already in the upper 90s, which doesn’t usually happen until July and August; our regular afternoon showers are apparently stuck up north. However, it was later in the evening and they could take their time; enjoying the coolness of their treat before the ride home. Fine, said the protester, and off they went to 7/11.
My friend and I went back to the porch. Like five minutes later, I saw the sky start to darken. Odd. We weren’t expecting rain. Five-ish more minutes later, it was darker, much darker.
WTF. WE’RE IN A DROUGHT.
I called my daughter. No answer, which isn’t weird; her phone was in a bag. I called my friend’s son. He answered. Yes, they see the front as well and are hustling back from 7/11. They’ll call us from the park if it starts to storm before they get home.
Aaaand cue lightning. No thunder. OK, the storm isn’t as close as it appears. Remember from “Poltergeist”? Start counting when the lightning strikes and stop when the thunder rolls; that’s how many miles away the storm is.
And then a toy clown attacks you and a portal to Hell opens in your closet.
Standing on my friend’s driveway, we’re waiting for the kids. Looking at the radar, we are on the edge of the big, red, looks like New Jersey front. Murphy’s Law in full effect.
Bright, hot and dry for days. Send the kids on their bikes for a treat? Darkness, downpours and tornadoes.*
The kids are literally racing the storm on their bikes. My daughter rounds the bend. My friend’s son isn’t far behind her. Yes! They made it. Bikes in the garage, everyone inside.
Moments later, it starts to rain a bit. High fives all around.
The kids go off to play in the house and we return, again, to the porch. Giving thanks for the rain, because we’re in a drought—duh, we check the radar again. Yeah, that big, nasty, red blob? Gone. Well, at least it was no longer red and New Jersey-like; it was yellow and more Hawaii-esque.
Mother Nature has jokes.
The downpour came hours, seriously, hours later.