Wet Feet

This morning, I woke up to sunshine with a few scattered clouds. And before I put on my outfit for the day, I thought I would do the "smart" thing and check the weather. 16.7 degrees with Light Rain. Light Rain. Light...Rain.
Let's examine the definition of "Light" in this case, shall we?

Light
-adjective
1. of small amount, force, intensity, etc.
2. easy to endure, deal with, or perform; not difficult or burdensome.

Light Rain.

I don't think Córdoba understands the phrase "Light Rain". At this moment, my shoes are soaked through. I had to wipe my feet off with a towel once I got in the house. And at some point on my walk home, I just stopped caring about stepping in puddles. Actually, my feet were warmer in the puddles than they were out of the puddles.
Light Rain.


Light Rain.


"Light" Rain.

As I'm writing this, I'm listening to the rain fall outside and, excuse my vulgarity, it sounds like someone is drunkenly peeing against my window. Not the nice, tinkling peeing that takes place right before bed, or even the "I held my pee for an hour before I found a toilet" peeing. No. Luckily for me (sarcasm), I'm talking the "I had 5 beers, 3 tequila shots, some water in hopes that I won't be hung over in the morning, and just for kicks, I thought I'd hold my pee until I made it home" peeing. That's what I'm dealing with right now, and that's what I've been dealing with since I landed in Spain.

I went into class with the sun, and I came out with the drunken pee rain. Honestly, the rain in Spain most definitely does not fall mainly on the plain: it falls mainly everywhere.

It needs to stop. I'm tired of the rain. I'm tired of umbrellas. And I am most certainly tired of WET FEET.