Raindrops keep falling on my bed

You know it’s been a long drought when you forget you have a leaky roof until you are reminded two years later.

It began at 3 a.m., as all annoying events should.



Must’ve been a dream.


Nope, my forehead is wet.


Oh geez.

I got up to turn on the light. The rain had been relentless for three days.

I peered at the ceiling. You could still make out the trail of the repair job, spackled and repainted, from when carpenter ants invaded, broke through the plaster, and began landing on my bed.

I’d take the rain any day.

But apparently the damage was more extensive than we realized, as at the very end of the old ant trail, water had seeped through the paint, creating a slit that looked like a winking eye, and–


I didn’t think I had enough room to move the bed away from the drip. I certainly wasn’t going to fix it or call anyone. It was the middle of the night. I was tired.

I did what any reasonable person would do–went into the bathroom, got a big fat beach towel.

And slept beneath it.

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