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It (usually) never rains in California

When I was notified I had won a prize for rainmaking, I was gob-smacked while trying to close my umbrella. The last one to win that prestigious award was Burt Lancaster whom I’m often mistaken for without my makeup.

I don’t know what came over me, but after some graffiti artist seeing the unwashed car wrote “dirty girl”(though I’m actually a “nasty woman”) on my car, I was glad his pen got stuck in the soot.

I was then forced to wash my car by hand — these lovely hands only meant for rocking babies and royal waving.

Here I was trying to be a good citizen by conserving water in our drought-forsaken state of California and was actually being berated for it.

Still, my car washing  did bring the rain and so I will accept graciously (unlike Bob Dylan), the most coveted “Raindrops Are Falling On My Head” accolade.

Now I’ve been receiving threatening notes saying, “ENOUGH ALREADY!”

What you should know is that I am only in charge of causing the rain though not always stopping it, so shush!

I admit the excess has caused distress.

Even the animals in my neighborhood are walking two by two seeking an ark or two-bedroom suites.

The rain caused a roof leak not covered by my homeowner’s fee as the house was remodeled 50 years ago by the original owner. Nothing is covered in my homeowner’s fee except for the battery in my smoke detector. (As I do not do much comparison-shopping, does anyone know if $7,500 a year is excessive for a battery?)

I made calls to various roof repair services. No one was available until June. I asked what I should do until then and, coincidentally, they all gave the same spiritual advice, “Pray it doesn’t rain until then.”

I realized the storm was a tad lucky for me as I wouldn’t have to attend yet another baby shower for my second cousin who was having her fourth child with her third husband, who had planned to drive me to the event.

He had also promised to have a vasectomy the first of the year, but he couldn’t start his car as his battery got wet and which left me stuck at home leaving me oh, so disappointed while I lit the fireplace and sipped my hot toddy.

But enough about family!

In addition, I was stuck all day watching television while stuffing my face with leftover pizza. Oh, don’t cry for me, Pizzerias.

Having nothing to do with anything, I’m very curious to know why you all set aside only 24 hours to celebrate “Pizza Day” when, in fact, I celebrate it all year…week in and week out with only holidays set aside for Weight Watcher’s meetings?

A bit of truthiness here; sometimes when one has supreme and potent power like myself, one must be cautious when making a weather request change. Results may have unexpected consequences.

I recall my last conjuring while wishing for a tan. I slathered sun screen all over my body, which takes a bucket or so, and issued my command while singing, “Here Comes the Sun” and then, waving my wand.

I quickly learned that when the sun also rises, it fades the drapes.

Along with a roofer, I am currently seeking curtains.

— Jan Marshall

Jan Marshall has devoted her life’s work to humor and healing through books, columns and motivational speaking. As founder of the International Humor & Healing Institute, she worked with board members Norman Cousins, Steve Allen and other physicians and entertainers, including John Cleese. Her newest satirical survival book, Dancin’ Schmancin’ with the Scars: Finding the Humor No Matter What! is dedicated to Wounded Warriors, Gabrielle Giffords and Grieving Parents. She donates a percentage of the profits to these organizations as well as to the American Cancer Society and the American Brain Tumor Association.

Reflections of Erma