Rough Night

We've been having a most unusual spring in Chicago. We've been having it now, in April, instead of the more usual month of June. For the past week or so, temperatures have soared and skies have been blue. The startled populace has been wandering about among the tulips, grinning goofily. The one fly in the ointment was Dolores' announcement that on Wednesday morning she would begin hunting for the perfect new bikini.

Our idyll came to an abrupt end last night at about two in the morning. I was in the middle of a terribly interesting dream involving Viggo Mortensen and a pair of leather wrist restraints when suddenly there was a terrific WHUMP! and the whole apartment shook.

From the other room, I heard Dolores mutter groggily, "Whatever that was, I hope it's dead now."

I got up and went to the window. "It" was the north wind. The sky that had been more or less clear was now threatening and full of fast-moving, low-flying clouds. There were breakers on the lake–big ones. It was raining. And the gusts kept coming. WHUMP! WHUMP! WHUMP!

"Mother Nature is now officially on my shit list," said Dolores, retiring to her cushion and pulling the blanket over her head.

When I came into the living room this morning, Dolores was lying on the couch watching the Weather Channel. A very bright-eyed anchorwoman was explaining that our little taste of February had arrived courtesy of a large air mass sailing down from Canada.

"Fucking Canadians," said Dolores, turning off the television.

"Not nice," I said. "When you're down in the Loop today, could you stop by Field's and pick up some black socks for me?"

"Heh," sniffed Dolores. "You think I'm leaving the apartment in this muck?"



"What about the perfect bikini?"

"I've decided to start shopping this weekend," she said. "They say the weather will have cleared up, plus you can go with me. Mama likes to have somebody to hold her purse. Say, would you mind fluffing my pillow?"

Attention, Mother Nature: You're now on my shit list, too.