Do you see that? Isn’t it depressing? And also kind of unfathomable? I mean, it’s not like I live in Seattle or something. But it’s been raining here for a week straight already. And apparently there’s no real end in sight.
I know, I know. If I have to be steeping in cold, damp weather, I’m lucky that it’s Parisian cold, damp weather. I guess. Of course every now and then it’s lovely to cosy up with a glass of wine and listen to the drops plinking off the tin rooftops. But after day 2 or 3, the charm wears off. The perpetual darkness starts to weigh on your soul. The frigid droplets that gust horizontally and then up and under your umbrella stir a certain hostility that cannot be described in pleasant words. By day 4 or 5, after the wind has ruined 2 umbrellas and continues to rattle through your chimney at all hours of the night, the crazy starts setting in. And by day 6 or 7, when the water has splashed into your knee high wellies one too many times and you realize that the intensity of the downpour increases every time you merely consider venturing outside, it’s about all you can do to not claw your own eyes out just so you don’t have to see the gray sky anymore.
Did I mention that it’s only November? And I have months and months of this weather ahead of me? Coupled with the fact that it is still dark at 8am, I swear I’d never get out of bed if there weren’t things like this waiting for me in the morning:
I asked my french teacher if this was normal. She gave me the shrug and said oui, c’est normale. But sensing the distress in my countenance, she offered a wonderful phrase to help cheer me up:
Il pleut comme vache qui pisse
It’s raining like a pissing cow. Or, it’s raining like a cow who pisses. I hope you just got a nose-wrinkling visual. But that’s actually what it feels like! After endless days of this maddening downpour, I feel like instead of a giant rain cloud hovering over my head wherever I go, it’s a giant cow taking a leak. A little more apt than cats and dogs, no?