And The Thunder Rolls

While it's been admitted that fog makes me a little misty and homesick, and rain makes me silly, a really good thunderstorm makes me...oh my. I don't know if every woman catches the energy from a good storm the same way. Maybe you had to read one too many Harlequin romances as a girl, as I did, to have an obessive desire to be kissed in the rain. Of course, in the real world I'd complain about how "you're getting my hair wet and my mascara will run."

There's something incredibly wild and primal about a storm. Thunder, lightening, downpour for hours. If you turn all the lights out, light the candles, put on Barry White or Chaka Kahn...that, my friends, is a recipe for the perfect night. And if a bottle of wine and a sweet soul shows up, too...well, then that becomes a Phil Vasser song about french kissing on a bear-skinned rug.

Oh, geez, did I just write all that? Um...where am I? Who are all these people? How 'bout them White Sox?