Rainy Day Blues

There are few days when I feel less like work then when I wake up in the morning sleepily cuddled into the lovely husband with the rain drumming heavily on the roof the sky grey and heavy and the girls still curled up asleep in their rooms. This morning I turned in LH’s arms and nuzzled my head into his shoulder and tried to persuade him of the benefits of skipping work today and spending the day in bed. He was not convinced and kept niggling me until I finally grumpily crawled out of bed and into the nice warm shower. We have a skylight in our ensuite though and the rain was even heavier sounding, beating heavily and making my enthusiasm drop steadily.

LH tried to lift my mood by picking through my draw and selecting usually mood lifting underwear in favourite colour and while I’m sure he is happy that I’m wearing them today, they’re just not doing anything for me. I trudged off in the rain with my inadequate umbrella and with my jean hem getting saturated making me wish I’d worn my beautiful boots instead of plain boring flats. I also kicked myself for still not hemming them meaning that the backs were getting trashed.

My mood did not improve at the train station crowded in with the other grumpy commuters who when the train finally arrived crowded in like sardines until simply no more passengers (including me) could squish on. So I had to wait for the next train as the breeze picked up in lusty gusts, drizzling water over my arms and laptop bag, turning the margin of my notebook soggy as my mood.

My day picked up though when I climbed aboard the express train though as it was mostly empty and I immediately got a seat, not next to an overflower, and stared forward out the window as the rain trickled down the thick glass. I did not feel up to observing passengers and just watched the bleak sky zip past. Until such time as I realised that I was being observed myself.

He was tall, mid to late 30s, medium build and dressed for a day in the office. His damp, striped shirt was translucent with the rain water showing a smattering of dark curling chest hair that did not extend to his shoulders, but merely arrowed down towards his xiphisternum. His eyes, which darted away every time they met mine were dark brown as was his hair and his face showed good humour, too much sun exposure and eyelashes nearly as long and dark as my own.

Curious as to what was drawing his attention I looked down expecting to see a massive yoghurt stain from my affectionate children, too many buttons undone inadvertently flashing my cleavage (a salacious issue I have often due not, sadly, to a wanton exhibitionistic streak, but mostly the adjacency of my laptop bag strap), or some other such faux pas. But I couldn’t see anything remiss, and I was certainly not dressed to impress today so I was confused by the attention. It became a game as we slid into each sodden station with me trying to catch him looking at me and to try and work out why. He didn’t pay nearly as much attention to anyone else on the train, even though I was seated across and next to several beautiful, impeccably dressed women, with flawless makeup and hair. In fact I started to wonder if it was my damp dishevelledness that was discombobulating.

But gratefully I had forgotten about my not still being in bed petulance and as I changed trains in the city, there was more of my usual spring in my step, in spite of the state of my jeans and boring shoes. As I sat on the cold metal bench I drifted off into my imagination and parallel lives where I extracted why the stranger was looking at me. On my way up the hill I was distracted again by the smell of sizzling bacon and noticed that there was a fundraising breakfast stall out the front of the hospital where I promptly bought a bacon and egg muffin that exploded with yolky goodness and finally woke me up from my self piteous stupor.

My day today includes such joys as childhood dermatoses, developmental issues, childhood CNS disorders, spina bifida and the ethical issues of prenatal screening and surgery in paediatrics. Long and hard and involved, and yet I’m sitting here crosslegged in the conference room with my laptop in my lap, recounting stories of a tall dark and damp stranger instead of focusing on how to treat nappy rash…

I’ll develop a work ethic one day.