I must have been a little chilled last night, because in my sleep I scooched over to my husband's side of the bed. It was empty, because he is out of town.
Some time later I awoke to a steady drip, drip, drip on my bare shoulder. Sure that I was dreaming -- because even though rain was pounding on the roof and windows, it couldn't possibly have been raining in my bedroom -- I rolled over, only to hear drip, drip, drip, drip on my pillow.
It was raining in my bedroom.
I leaped up and snapped on the light. Yep, the ceiling was doing a fairly impressive imitation of Niagara Falls. On my husband's side of the bed. Can you imagine how I resented him for leaving me here alone to face something that was so clearly his problem?
He'll be home tonight, but I'm afraid to tell him what happened because the rat will twist himself into knots laughing at my misfortune. So now I'm thinking maybe I should take my iron skillet over to my neighbor's for safekeeping. Just in case I'm tempted to use it tonight.
And I don't mean for frying bacon, folks.