Valleyfair was fun, even though it rained for the first five hours we were there. It wasn’t a hard rain, it was just heavy enough to make you need to wipe off your glasses every few minutes. Most of the rides kept going through it, so it really wasn’t that bad.

We had walked around the park one-and-a-half times by the time Hannah decided she wanted a rain poncho, conveniently sold at the souvenir stands for $5 (how a sheet of vinyl with a head hole qualifies for that kind of markup is beyond me, but hey, I also had a horrible chili dog meal (chili dog, fries, pop) for $12. Not really a bargain.).

Now you know the rules: wash the car and it will rain within 2 hours, just because the freshly cleaned car must be marked by rainwater. In fact, the better the wash, the worse the rain is: if you get the $15 super-excellent, hyper soft wash, with the hand dry performed with cloth diapers with the babies still in them, it will rain, but just enough to create little bubble-shaped spots of mud on the windshield.

This is the rule. Nay, I think it may even be a law.

Zoe was convinced to get a poncho by Hannah. And we weren’t out of the souvenir shop more than 3 minutes than I’d noticed the rain had stopped. We didn’t see another drop for the rest of the day, and we were out there for another 3 hours after that. Hell, it didn’t even rain on the way home.

So the solution to some weather problems in the country right now would seem to be this: provide rain ponchos to everyone in Minot and upstream on the Souris, and order everyone in drought-stricken Texas to wash their cars ASAP. The laws will kick in and take care of everything.

See you tomorrow.



Comments

  1. Hi, Paul! Glad I read this. Your last paragraph is too funny. Maybe those ponchos will find a purpose come Halloween. I mean, girls can’t outgrow ponchos in less than a year, can they? I don’t know… Mexican rain bandits? Take care. Glad your surgery seems to have had a good “outcome.”

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