The plans were made last week. A girlfriend who lives on the other side of town I infrequently see was supposed to meet me in Santa Monica for a cup of tea. We woke up to a laden sky that quickly turned into a steady drizzle and, by late morning, into a veritable downpour.
I am hoping Shally won’t feel like taking such a long drive. When I call her, her resolve is wavering “It’s such a terrible day!”. It’s the first day of real rain since last winter.
Pamela calls me a little bit later with the suggestion of an indie play that is closing today. Feeling my rain-soaked indecision, she agrees the weather is too dismal and a book in front of the fireplace might be a better idea.
Luisa, undeterred only because chaperoning some visitors around Los Angeles, calls around lunchtime asking if I am interested in a spot of lunch. “Are you kidding? I am still in my pj’s!” “Good for you. Might want to stay in them for the rest of the day”.
Funny thing is, my girlfriends are from Israel, Boston and Northern Italy respectively. The only one who could be forgiven is Shally, hailing from the Israeli coast – the other two are no stranger to adverse weather. And neither am I, having gingerly survived rainy and snowy winters in Bologna, London and Milan, where it’s unthinkable to change one’s plans because of the weather. Major acts of Gods, public transportation all out strikes or half a meter of snow might be the only deterrents. Maybe.
How quickly have we morphed into fully fledged Californians! It’s Sunday, it’s raining, I don’t really have to be anywhere so screw it. I am closing shop because of the weather. I am vaguely embarrassed by my “wussy” behaviour.
Then again, Ottie and Portia share my feelings. Aside from an early morning quick bathroom break, they have refused to move their butts from their beds or the couch, where I spent most of the day, surrounded by the Sunday Times, magazines and the phone, feeling like a child granted a reprieve from school, on account of a cold.
Sometimes social interaction is overrated.