Q: What do you call a sunny day that follows two days of rain?
Q: How can you tell if it is going to rain?
A: If you can see the mountain. If you can’t see the mountain, it is already raining.
So this guy moves to Oregon from I don’t know where, say Chicago, where the winters are brutal but the sun often shines — and for the first month he’s here, it rains.
And rains. You know the stuff. That solid, unremitting, bone-chilling, soul-sogging Oregon rain that turns the whole word gray and acts as if it’ll never stop. The kind of rain that makes you realize you haven’t seen a shadow in weeks, and this guy is flipping out.
He’s waiting for a bus one day with a clean-cut youngster, both huddling in the shelter as the rain pelts the roof. Finally, he can’t stand it. “Hey kid,” he growls, “is it always like this?”
“Gosh, sir, I don’t know,” the boy answers. “I’m only 17!”
Courtesy of today’s Oregonian.