Blogger's Block

As I was cycling home this afternoon, I pondered about what to put on my blog for tomorrow. Blogger's block. I've got nothing.

I could blog about my quarterlife crisis of receiving far too many invites to weddings/hen parties/baby showers. Boring.
I could blog about the ongoing domestic Mills and I have regarding laundry. Yawn.
Of course, there's always global warming...

While I was contemplating my complete lack of ranting material, it started to rain. Again, yawn. The Dutchies show no sign of discomfort in drizzle. Only foreigners make a dash to shelter. I cycled on.

It rained a little harder. Big deal. It's Sunday, I'm okay with looking shit.
As if determined to destroy my complacency, it rained harder.

At this stage I was about 2km from home and in an open patch of road - no shelter in sight. I cycled on as my jeans, jacket, scarf and bag got drenched. (Please try not to dwell on the fact that I was wearing a scarf in summer. Awesome weather - for penguins maybe) I was now completely wet. Not standing-next-to-a-puddle-and-getting-splashed-wet, but picked-up-and-thrown-headfirst-into-the-pool-complete-with-handbag, cellphone and sunglasses-squeezing-water-out-of-your-shoes...wet.

I cycled on - largely because I knew it wasn't possible to get any more saturated, but also because I didn't have an option of going indoors. "Um, excuse me... do you mind if I stand here and drip on your greeting cards until the weather clears? Dank je wel."

Previous experience had taught me that if I stopped and dismounted, the saddle would get wet - which would result in an uncomfortable, chaffing ride when I got back on. (Now there's a sentence I certainly didn't think I would be typing. Ever). At that stage my ass was the last remaining battalion in the war against demin soddenness. I clung onto my dry spot and kept peddling.

It will come as no surprise to learn that by the time I reached my door, it had stopped raining. Completely.

The moral of the story?

If I was REALLY Dutch I would've had a paraplu (brolly) on me and I would've cycled, unperturbed, holding the umbrella in one hand - with my other hand in my pocket, whistling casually.






Oh look at that... I found something to type about after all.