When it rains . . .

On my way to Mustafa this morning by myself, I thought, "What a pleasant, cool day." It started to drip a bit by the time I got there, but when I came out, it had turned from pleasant and cool to an absolute downpour.

I always think it's interesting to observe people in rain. There are the "I got caught without my umbrella and I'm not only soaked but angry" people, and then there are the "let's make a break for it and hope for the best" equally wet people who run into shelter. Others, like myself, wait in vain for it to let up. It didn't - it only got worse. It's frustrating when my house is within eyesight, if you knock a few buildings down, to take a taxi home from Mustafa. I thought, as I stood with others comtemplating their own strategy for tackling the rain, that I could walk. I had brought my trusty metal shopping cart that bangs my right heel wherever I go, and I had an umbrella. Plus, finding a taxi during a rainstorm is about as easy as finding jeans that fit - it'll take you hours, maybe days.

But it seems many people chose today to come to Mustafa, so I caught a cab within minutes. I was glad I did, because in the time it took me to throw my stuff in the back and get in, my shorts were soaked and I knew that if I had walked, I might just as well have jumped into the pool. The driver pointed out that it was raining so hard, most of the other taxis had pulled over and were waiting it out. We rounded one corner and drove through a six inch deep, 10 yard long puddle. I have never been so grateful to have a carpark under our complex! When I got home, I discovered that Erik and the kids didn't fare as well as I did coming back from the market - both kids were stripped of their wet clothes and were huddled under a blanket watching Discovery channel: Snakes.

I tell this story just to give you a piece of life in Singapore, where when it rains, it really pours.