Here, Kitty!

My Favorite Domer says I must be part cat. He even calls me “Kitty” on occasion.

I think he’s onto something.

You see, I’ve never been very fond of being wet, be it rain-soaked or swimming-pool immersed.

My dad always used to welcome a good rain, especially if it came with a lightning show and lots of thunder. It cleans the earth, he’d point out.

I agree, but washing is supposed to be done at night, not during the day. And that’s when rains should fall, too.

If they did, there’d be no need for rain jackets and hats and boots and umbrellas — shoot, entire industries would dry up.

So to speak.

But rainy days are depressing. They’re gray and drab — and wet.

It’s that part-cat thing, remember.

Long ago, I was coerced into taking swimming lessons.

“You never know,” my parents said. “Being able to swim might save your life some day.”


So I dutifully went to the pool and suffered.

It wasn’t bad enough that I had to wrap my then-skinny body in a swimsuit. Invariably, the temperature here in June hovers somewhere around the 60-degree mark, give or take. Not near warm enough to heat a huge outdoor pool to where it’s comfortable.

Bath water comfortable, I’m talking about.

Combine the embarrassment of appearing (milky-white body, of course) in a swimsuit with the pain of dropping into near-freezing water and you can imagine how I dreaded the ordeal.

To this day, I shun water sports. I don’t water ski. I don’t swim laps for exercise. I don’t do water aerobics. I don’t dive or snorkel.

And I hate driving on bridges and flying over big bodies of water.

Terra firma, that’s where I’m meant to be.

If the Good Lord had wanted me to swim, He’d have given me fins and flippers instead of arms and legs, right?


Rainy days

It’s been another dreary, wet day in the Midwest where I live, the kind of day where I don’t dare send my long-haired dog outside to play and chase squirrels. Wet fur just plain stinks; besides, it takes forever to blow-dry and brush out his luxurious coat!

Days like this remind me of countless Halloweens, though, when, as a child, I’d have to bundle up in a winter coat over my clever costume and race between houses doing the Trick-or-Treat thing. Somehow, by the time I got home — dripping wet, freezing, with a ruined costume — the whole thing paled in importance. Perhaps that’s one reason Halloween has never been one of my favorite holidays.

Oh, I know other people love it — love the dressing up, love the parties, love the decorations, love the candy — but I really could care less! I don’t like being wet, I don’t particularly like being cold, and I hate the feeling of “begging” for candy from neighbors (some of whom don’t even talk or wave to you any other day of the year).

When My Favorite Domer was little, I can remember only one Halloween that was beautiful — perfectly clear sky, big ole glowing moon, temperature just right. I think I had as much fun as he did strolling from house to house, visiting with the neighbors, and watching them pretend to guess who the little guy was behind the mask!

But when your kids outgrow Trick-or-Treat time, you have two choices. You can either put your porch light on and distribute candy to other kids, trying to guess who they are, or you can hole up in the dark and wish the entire scene to just go away. Neither sounds very appealing, does it?

Maybe I’ll just put a costume on my dog and see if we can’t find a party instead!