Get your feet wet

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You can take the man out of Berkeley…

We’re scheduled for dinner with one of Michael’s co-workers, and while the weather looks a little sketchy to me, Mike insists it’s just a few blocks away, and we should really walk instead. Now there are a few things about which Mike is completely oblivious, and one of them is weather patterns, and another is that humidity is the sworn enemy of my hair. Still, I give him a reluctant pass, which is why we’re a full block from home before it starts raining like suck.

Mike: “I can’t wait for you to see their house. It’s huge, and it’s all-green construction.”
Me: “I told you we should’ve driven. Where is this house again?”
Mike: “It’s just past Ballard Pediatric. You know, a block or so past.”
(We walk. And walk. Rain escalates to downpour.)
Me: “It woulda killed us to hop in the car? Also, I hate you.”
Mike: “It’s just amazing what they can do with green construction these days. Lots of surfaces made from recycled products, all sorts of sustainable materials…”
Me: “Huh? I can’t hear you over Stormwatch ’08. How many blocks did you say past Ballard Pediatric?”
Mike: “Really, it’s just up here. You’ll love the open floor plan. And you wouldn’t believe all the zero-emissions, zero-toxicity materials they used.”
(Blocks grow into miles. Downpour ups to Apocalyptic Deluge.)
Me: “You know, these people have never met me. And one look at this hair will tell them my obvious style icon is Disco Stu, and that despite this, you have nonetheless STUCK IT IN ME. MORE THAN ONCE. Are we even getting close?”
Mike: “See that tree? It’s a block past that. Maybe two. Oh, and they also have this unbelievable irrigation system that reclaims grey water…”
Me (coming to a dead stop on sidewalk): “Oh. My. God. We’re going to their ‘green house,’ and because it’s vaguely in the neighborhood, you couldn’t bear the thought of burning fossil fuels to get there.”
At which Mike also stops in his tracks, realizes I’m right and bursts out laughing.
(Rain continues in buckets, drowned-rats slog recommences.)


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