Oh, the poor Chinese guy.
I was out in Tennessee this past weekend, bonding with and picking up more of my stuff from the apartment we once shared. I was also spoiling the cat rotten; according to Jords, She Who Must Be Petted was quite mopey after I left.
Coming back, I somehow managed to dodge the rain so I only got lightly sprinkled on. When I got home, I unpacked the car (really hot and sweaty work) and decided to call for dinner, rather than cooking. The sky was clear when I ordered (“Forty-five minutes for delivery, thank you sir.”) but about five minutes before I was expecting the Chinese guy to show, the sky over Germantown decided to do its best imitation of “A Perfect Storm”. I felt so bad when I answered the door, because the poor delivery guy looked like he'd been on the wrong end of a water balloon battle. He got an extra-large tip.
Moment of Zen